TH€ 


D'ANNUNZIO 


tto  gnmz 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH. 
$1.50. 

THE  MAIDENS  OF  THE  ROCKS. 
$1.50. 


THE  ROMANCES  OF  THE  ROSE 

THE   INTRUDER 

BY 

GABRIELE    D'ANNUNZIO 


TRANSLATED    BY 

ARTHUR    HORNBLOW 

Beati  immaculati    ... 


NEW  YORK 

GEORGE   H.  RICHMOND 
1898 


COPYRIGHT,  1897,  BY 
GEORGE  H.  RICHMOND 


1*3 

1> 


MAW 


THE    INTRUDER. 


SHOULD  I  go  before  the  judge  and  say :  "  I  have  com- 
mitted a  crime.  He  would  not  be  dead  if  I  had  not  killed 
him.  It  is  I,  Tullio  Hermil,  who  am  his  assassin.  I 
premeditated  that  assassination  in  my  house.  I  committed 
it  with  perfect  lucidity  of  conscience,  methodically,  in  all 
security.  And  I  have  gone  on  living  in  my  house  with  my 
secret  for  a  whole  year,  until  to-day.  To-day  is  the  anni- 
versary. I  deliver  myself  into  your  hands.  Listen  to  me, 
judge  me." 

(pan  I  go  before  the  judge  ?  Can  I  speak  to  him  like 
that  ? 

I  cannot,  and  I  will  not.  The  justice  of  men  does  not 
reach  as  far  as  me.  There  is  no  tribunal  on  earth  compe- 
tent to  judge  me. 

And  yet  I  feel  a  desire  to  accuse  myself,  to  confess.  I 
feel  a  desire  to  reveal  my  secret  to  someone. 

To  WHOM  ? 

*  In  the  original  Italian,  this  novel  is  entitled  "  L'Innocente," 


2  THE    INTRUDER. 

My  first  recollection  is  as  follows : 

It  was  in  April.  For  several  days,  during  the  festivities 
of  the  Pentecost,  Juliana  and  I  and  our  two  little  daugh- 
ters, Maria  and  Natalia,  had  been  in  the  country,  at  my 
mother's  house,  a  roomy  old  place  known  as  the  Badiola. 
It  was  the  seventh  year  of  our  marriage. 

Three  years  had  already  slipped  by  since  another  Pente- 
cost which,  passed  in  that  villa,  white  and  isolated  as  a 
monastery,  and  embalmed  with  tufts  of  violets,  had  seemed 
to  me  a  veritable  festival  of  pardon,  peace,  and  love.  At 
that  time  Natalia,  the  second  of  my  little  girls,  barely 
emerged  from  swaddling  clothes  like  a  flower  from  its  envel- 
ope, was  learning  to  walk;  and  Juliana  was  very  good  and 
indulgent  with  me,  although  there  was  a  shade  of  melan- 
choly in  her  smile.  I  had  come  back  to  her,  repentant  and 
submissive,  after  the  first  serious  infidelity.  My  mother, 
who  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened,  had  tied  with  her 
dear  hands  a  sprig  of  olive  at  the  head  of  our  bed,  and 
filled  the  little  silver  holy- water  dish  hanging  on  the  wall. 

But  what  had  not  happened  in  three  years  !  Between 
Juliana  and  myself  the  breach  was  henceforth  definitive 
and  irreparable.  I  had  gone  on  wronging  her  repeatedly  : 
I  had  insulted  her  in  the  most  outrageous  manner  without 
regard  for  her  feelings,  without  restraint,  carried  away  by 
an  appetite  greedy  for  pleasure,  by  the  vertigo  of  my  pas- 
sions, by  the  curiosity  of  my  corrupted  mind.  I  had  had 
as  mistresses  two  of  her  intimate  friends ;  I  had  spent  sev- 
eral weeks  at  Florence  with  Teresa  Raffo,  shamelessly;  I 
had  fought  with  the  false  Count  Raffo  a  duel  in  which  my 
unfortunate  adversary  covered  himself  with  ridicule  owing 
to  certain  bizarre  circumstances.  And  nothing  of  all  this 
had  remained  unknown  to  Juliana ;  and  she  had  suffered, 
but  with  much  pride,  and  almost  without  saying  anything, 


THE    INTRUDER.  3 

We  had  only  had  on  this  subject  a  few  very  short  inter- 
views, at  which  I  did  not  tell  a  single  falsehood.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  my  sincerity  would  attenuate  my  fault  in  the 
eyes  of  this  sweet  and  noble  woman,  who  I  knew  had  a 
superior  mind. 

I  knew  also  that  she  recognized  my  intellectual  superior- 
ity and  that  she  excused  in  part  the  disorders  of  my  con- 
duct by  the  specious  theories  that,  more  than  once,  I  had 
aired  in  her  presence,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  moral 
doctrines  that  the  majority  of  men  profess  to  believe  in. 
The  conviction  that  she  would  not  judge  me  like  any  ordi- 
nary man  lightened  my  conscience  of  the  weight  of  my 
errors.  "  She,  too,  understands,"  I  thought,  "  that,  since  I 
am  different  from  others,  since  I  have  a  different  concep- 
tion of  life,  I  have  the  right  to  elude  the  duties  that  others 
would  impose  on  me.  I  have  the  right  to  despise  the  opin- 
ions of  others,  and  to  lead  with  absolute  sincerity  the  only 
life  possible  to  my  higher  nature." 

I  had  the  conviction  of  being  not  only  a  higher  nature, 
but  also  a  rare  intelligence;  and  I  believed  that  the  rarity 
of  my  sensations  and  my  feelings  ennobled,  distinguished, 
all  my  acts.  Proud  and  curious  of  this  rarity  of  mine,  I 
was  incapable  of  conceiving  the  slightest  sacrifice,  the 
slightest  abnegation  of  myself;  I  was  incapable  of  renoun- 
cing the  expression,  the  manifestation  of  one  of  my  desires. 
But,  at  the  bottom  of  all  my  subtilties,  there  was  only  a 
terrible  egotism  that  caused  me  to  neglect  my  duties,  while 
at  the  same  time  I  accepted  the  benefits  of  my  situation. 

Insensibly,  in  fact,  from  one  abuse  to  another,  I  had 
succeeded  in  reconquering  my  old-time  liberty,  even  with 
Juliana's  consent,  without  hypocrisy,  without  subterfuge, 
without  degrading  lies.  I  made  a  study  of  being  loyal,  no 
matter  at  what  cost,  as  others  make  a  study  of  deception. 


4  THE    INTRUDER. 

At  all  times,  I  strove  to  confirm,  between  Juliana  and 
myself,  the  new  pact  of  fraternal  affection  and  pure  friend- 
ship. She  was  to  be  my  sister,  the  best  of  my  friends. 

My  sister,  my  only  sister,  Constance,  had  died  when  she 
was  nine  years  old,  leaving  in  my  heart  infinite  regret. 
I  often  thought,  with  profound  melancholy,  of  that  little 
soul  who  had  not  been  able  to  offer  me  the  treasure  of  her 
tenderness,  a  treasure  that  I  dreamed  inexhaustible.  Among 
all  human  affections,  among  all  earthly  loves,  that  of  a 
sister  had  always  seemed  to  me  the  highest  and  the  most 
consoling.  I  often  thought  of  that  lost  great  consolation, 
and  the  irrevocableness  of  death  added  a  sort  of  mystery  to 
my  pain.  Where  can  one,  on  earth,  find  another  sister  ? 

Spontaneously,  this  sentimental  aspiration  turned  towards 
Juliana. 

Too  proud  to  accept  a  division,  she  had  already  renounced 
all  caresses,  all  abandon.  And  I,  for  some  time  past,  no 
longer  felt  a  shade  of  sensual  disturbance  when  near  her. 
In  vain  I  felt  her  breath  on  my  cheek,  respired  her  per- 
fume, looked  at  the  little  brown  mole  on  her  neck.  I 
remained  absolutely  cold.  It  seemed  impossible  to  me 
that  this  was  the  same  woman. 

I  then  offered  to  become  a  brother  to  her ;  and  she  ac- 
cepted, without  affectation.  If  she  were  sad,  I  myself  was 
still  more  so  in  thinking  that  our  love  was  buried  forever 
and  without  hope  of  resurrection,  in  thinking  that  our  lips 
doubtless  would  never,  never  meet  again. 

And,  in  the  blindness  of  my  egotism,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  at  heart  she  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me  for  this  sadness, 
which  I  felt  was  already  incurable ;  it  seemed  to  me  that 
she  ought  to  be  pleased  at  it  and  find  a  consolation  in  it, 
as  if  with  a  reflection  of  our  past  love. 

There  had  beer;  a  time  when  we  both  dreamed,  not  only 


THE    INTRUDER.  5 

of  love,  but  of  passion  until  death — usque  ad  mortem.  We 
had  both  believed  in  our  dream — and  more  than  once,  dur- 
ing our  moments  of  ecstasy,  we  had  uttered  the  great 
illusionary  words:  Always!  never!  We  had  ended  by 
believing  in  the  affinity  of  our  flesh,  in  that  affinity  so  rare, 
so  mysterious,  which  binds  two  human  creatures  together  by 
the  frightful  bond  of  insatiable  desire.  We  believed  so 
because  the  acuteness  of  our  sensations  had  not  dimin- 
ished even  after,  by  the  creation  of  a  new  being,  the 
obscure  Genius  of  the  Species  had  attained,  by  means  of 
our  persons,  his  unique  object. 

Then  the  illusion  had  faded  away;  the  flame  had  gone 
out.  My  soul — I  swear  it — had  sincerely  wept  over  the 
catastrophe.  But  how  to  prevent  a  necessary  phenomenon  ? 
How  to  avoid  the  inevitable  ? 

It  was,  therefore,  very  fortunate  that,  after  the  death  of 
our  love,  caused  by  the  fatal  necessity  of  the  phenomenon, 
and  consequently  by  the  fault  of  neither  of  us,  we  were 
able  to  go  on  living  in  the  same  house,  bound  by  a  new 
sentiment,  which  was  perhaps  not  less  profound  than  the 
old  one,  and  which,  assuredly,  was  higher  and  more  sin- 
gular. It  was  very  fortunate  that  a  new  illusion  could 
replace  the  old  one,  and  establish  between  our  souls  an 
exchange  of  pure  affections,  delicate  emotions,  and  exqui- 
site sadness. 

But,  in  reality,  what  was  to  be  the  end  of  this  species  of 
platonic  rhetoric  ?  To  induce  the  victim  to  smilingly  con- 
sent to  her  own  immolation. 

In  reality,  our  new  existence,  henceforth  fraternal  and 
no  longer  conjugal,  was  based  entirely  on  this  hypothesis  : 
that  the  sister  should  make  complete  abnegation  of  herself. 
I  myself  resumed  my  liberty,  I  could  go  in  quest  of  those 
new  sensations  which  my  nerves  needed,  I  could  feel  pas- 


6  THE    INTRUDER. 

sion  for  another  woman,  devote  to  my  mistress  all  the  time 
that  I  liked,  live  away  from  home  a  strange  and  ardent 
existence,  and  then  return,  find  there  again  the  sister  who 
was  awaiting  me,  see  everywhere  in  my  rooms  visible  traces 
of  her  care  :  on  my  table,  a  vase  full  of  roses  that  her 
hands  had  arranged;  on  all  sides  order,  refinement,  and 
the  radiant  cleanliness  of  a  place  in  which  lives  a  Grace. 
Was  not  that  an  enviable  condition  for  me  ?  And  was  not 
she  an  extraordinarily  precious  wife,  who  would  consent 
to  sacrifice  her  youth  to  me  and  who  considered  herself 
well  recompensed  if  only  I  pressed  a  grateful  and  almost 
religious  kiss  on  her  proud  and  gentle  brow  ? 

At  times  my  gratitude  became  so  warm  that  it  took  the 
form  of  an  infinity  of  attentions  and  affectionate  greetings. 
I  possessed  the  art  of  being  the  best  of  brothers.  When  I 
was  absent,  I  wrote  Juliana  long  letters  full  of  melancholy 
and  tenderness,  which  were  often  posted  at  the  same  time 
as  those  addressed  to  my  mistress.  And  my  mistress  could 
not  have  been  jealous  of  them  any  more  than  she  could 
be  jealous  of  my  adoration  of  Constance's  memory. 

All  absorbed  as  I  was  by  the  intensity  of  my  peculiar 
life,  I  could  not  elude  the  problems  which,  at  times,  pre- 
sented themselves  to  my  mind.  That  Juliana  could  con- 
tinue her  sacrifice  with  such  marvellous  strength,  she  must 
love  me  with  a  sovereign  love;  but  if  she  loved  me  and 
could  be  only  my  sister,  she  must,  without  any  possible 
doubt,  bear  in  her  soul  the  secret  of  a  mortal  despair.  WTas 
not,  therefore,  any  man  a  madman  who,  without  remorse, 
immolated  to  other  loves,  disturbed  and  chimerical,  this 
creature  who  smiled  so  sadly,  and  was  so  gentle  and  brave  ? 
I  remember  (and  I  am  surprised  now  at  my  perversity  at 
.that  time),  I  remember  that,  among  the  reasons  that  I 
advanced  to  calm  myself,,  the  strongest  was  this  one ; 


THE    INTRUDER.  7 

"  Since  moral  greatness  results  from  the  violence  of  the 
sorrows  over  which  one  triumphs,  it  is  necessary  that  she 
should  suffer  all  I  make  her  suffer  so  that  she  may  have 
an  opportunity  to  display  her  heroism." 

But,  one  day,  I  noticed  that  she  was  also  suffering  in  her 
health.  I  perceived  that  her  pale  face  was  growing  still 
whiter,  and  at  times  took  on  livid  tints.  More  than  once 
I  noticed  on  her  face  the  contractions  of  suppressed  pain; 
more  than  once,  in  my  presence,  she  was  seized  with  an 
irresistible  trembling  which  shook  her  entire  being  and 
made  her  teeth  rattle  as  by  the  shiver  of  a  sudden  fever. 
One  evening  while  she  was  upstairs  I  heard  her  give  a 
piercing  cry.  I  ran  to  her  and  found  her  standing  upright, 
leaning  against  a  cupboard,  convulsed,  writhing,  as  if  she 
had  taken  poison.  She  seized  my  hand,  and  held  it  tight 
as  in  a  vise. 

"  Tullio  !  Tullio  !  How  horrible  it  is  !  Oh,  how  horri- 
ble it  is!" 

She  looked  at  me,  close  to ;  she  kept  fixed  upon  me  her 
dilated  eyes,  which  in  the  twilight  seemed  of  unusual  size. 
And  in  those  large  orbs  I  saw  pass  something  like  the 
waves  of  some  mysterious  agony.  That  persistent,  in- 
tolerable gaze  suddenly  filled  me  with  a  mad  terror.  It 
was  evening,  twilight,  and  the  window  was  open,  and  the 
swollen  curtains  shook  at  the  breath  of  the  wind,  and  a 
candle  was  burning  on  a  table,  before  a  mirror.  And,  I 
know  not  why,  the  shaking  of  the  curtains,  the  hopeless 
flickering  of  the  tiny  flame  which  reflected  her  paleness 
in  the  glass,  assumed  in  my  mind  a  sinister  significance, 
and  increased  my  terror.  The  idea  of  poison  flashed 
across  my  mind.  At  that  moment  she  could  not  repress 
another  cry,  and,  beside  herself  by  the  excess  of  pain,  she 
threw  herself  upon  my  breast  distractedly. 


8  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  Oh  !  Tullio,  Tullio  !     Help  me,  help  me  ! " 

Paralyzed  with  terror,  I  remained  for  a  moment  without 
power  to  utter  a  word,  without  power  to  make  a  movement. 

"  What  have  you  done,  Juliana?  What  have  you  done  ? 
Speak,  speak  !  What  have  you  done  ?  ' ' 

Surprised  at  the  great  change  in  my  voice,  she  drew  back 
a  little  and  looked  at  me.  My  face  must  have  been  whiter 
and  more  upset  than  hers ;  for  she  replied  quickly,  in  a 
rambling  way : 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  Tullio  !  Don't  be  frightened.  See, 
it's  nothing — only  one  of  my  usual  spells.  You  know — it 
will  soon  be  over — don't  be  alarmed." 

But,  seized  by  the  terrible  suspicion,  I  doubted  her 
words.  It  seemed  to  me  that  all  around  revealed  to  me 
the  tragic  event  and  that  an  inner  voice  repeated  :  "  If  s  for 
you,  for  you,  that  she  wanted  to  die  ;  if  s  you,  you,  who  have 
urged  her  on  towards  death."  And  I  took  her  hands,  and 
I  felt  they  were  cold,  and  I  saw  a  bead  of  sweat  running 
down  her  brow. 

"  No,  no,"  I  cried;  "you're  deceiving  me.  For  pity's 
sake,  Juliana,  my  cherished  soul,  speak,  speak  !  Tell  me, 
have  you —  Oh !  for  pity's  sake,  tell  me,  have  you 
taken " 

And  my  horrified  eyes  sought  all  around,  on  the  furni- 
ture, on  the  carpet,  everywhere,  for  some  sign. 

Then  she  understood.  Again  she  let  herself  fall  on  my 
breast,  and  shuddering,  making  me  shudder,  she  said  to  me, 
her  mouth  against  my  shoulder  (never,  never,  shall  I  forget 
that  indefinable  tone),  she  said  to  me  : 

"  No,  no,  no,  Tullio  ;  no  !  " 

Ah  !  what  else  in  the  world  can  equal  the  vertiginous 
acceleration  of  our  inner  life  ?  We  remained  in  this 
attitude  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  silent;  and,  in  a  single 


THE    INTRUDER.  9 

moment,  the  inconceivable  immensity  of  a  universe  of 
feelings  and  thoughts  surged  up  in  me  with  frightful  dis- 
tinctness. "  And  if 'it  were  true ?"  demanded  the  voice; 
"  if  it  were  true?" 

Continual  starts  shook  Juliana  against  my  breast — she 
still  kept  her  face  hidden ;  and  I  myself  knew  well  that, 
in  spite  of  the  sufferings  of  her  poor  flesh,  she  thought  only 
of  the  possibility  of  the  deed  I  had  suggested — she  thought 
only  of  my  mad  terror. 

A  question  rose  to  my  lips :  "  Have  you  ever  been 
tempted?"  Then  another  :  "  Is  there  a  possibility  of  your 
giving  way  to  the  temptation  ?  "  I  did  not  give  expression 
to  either  of  them,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  me  that  she  under- 
stood. From  then  on,  we  were  both  under  the  empire  of 
this  thought  of  death,  this  picture  of  death ;  we  both  were 
subjected  to  a  kind  of  tragic  exaltation  which  made  us 
forget  the  moment  of  doubt  in  which  it  was  born,  and  lose 
consciousness  of  the  real.  All  at  once  she  burst  into  sobs, 
and  her  tears  provoked  my  tears.  We  mingled  our  tears, 
such  hot  tears,  alas  !  which  yet  were  powerless  to  change 
our  destiny. 

I  knew  later  that,  for  several  months  already,  she  had 
been  tormented  with  complicated  internal  troubles,  those 
terrible  occult  maladies  which,  in  the  woman,  disturb  all 
the  vital  functions.  The  doctor  whom  I  consulted  gave 
me  to  understand  that  another  pregnancy  might  be  fatal  to 
her. 

This  grieved  me,  and,  nevertheless,  relieved  me  from 
two  sources  of  anxiety.  I  was  convinced  that  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  Juliana's  decline,  and  I  had  an  excuse  in  my 
mother's  eyes  for  our  separate  beds  and  all  the  other  changes 
that  had  taken  place  in  our  domestic  life.  About  that  time 
my  mother  was  coming  to  Rome  from  the  country,  where, 


10  THE    INTRUDER. 

since  my  father's  death,  she  passed  the  greater  part  of  the 
year  with  my  brother  Federico. 

My  mother  was  very  fond  of  her  young  daughter-in-law. 
In  her  eyes  Juliana  was  truly  the  ideal  wife,  the  compan- 
ion of  whom  she  had  dreamed  for  her  son.  She  did  not 
believe  that  anywhere  in  the  world  there  was  a  more  beau- 
tiful, more  gentle,  more  noble  woman  than  Juliana.  She 
could  not  conceive  that  I  could  desire  other  women,  aban- 
don myself  in  other  arms,  sleep  upon  other  hearts.  As  she 
had  been  loved  for  twenty  years  by  a  man,  always  with  the 
same  devotion,  with  the  same  fidelity,  until  death,  she  was 
ignorant  of  the  lassitude,  the  disgust,  the  treacheiy,  and 
all  the  miseries  and  all  the  shames  that  the  conjugal  alcove 
shelters.  She  was  ignorant  of  the  wounds  that  I  had 
inflicted  and  that  I  was  still  inflicting  on  this  dear  soul 
which  did  not  deserve  them.  Deceived  by  Juliana's  gener- 
ous dissimulation,  she  still  believed  in  our  felicity.  How 
it  would  have  grieved  her  had  she  known  the  truth  ! 

At  that  period  I  was  still  under  the  domination  of 
Teresa  Raffo,  whose  violent  and  empoisoned  charms 
evoked  in  me  the  image  of  Menippo's  mistress.  Do  you 
remember  what  Appollonius  says  to  Menippo  in  the  ravish- 
ing poem  :  "  O  beautiful  young  man,  thou  art  caressing  a 
serpent;  a  serpent  is  caressing  thee  !  " 

Chance  favored  me.  The  death  of  an  aunt  compelled 
Teresa  to  leave  Rome  and  to  remain  absent  some  time. 
I  was  then  able  by  unusual  assiduity  when  with  my  wife  to 
fill  the  great  void  that  the  departure  of  the  "  Biondissima  " 
left  in  my  days.  The  disturbance  which  had  taken  place 
in  me  that  evening  had  not  yet  been  quieted.  Since  that 
evening  there  floated  between  Juliana  and  myself  some- 
thing new,  indefinable. 

As  her  physical  suffering  increased,   my  mother  and  I 


THE    INTRUDER.  II 

were  able,  not  without  great  difficulty,  to  secure  her  consent 
to  the  surgical  operation  necessitated  by  her  condition. 
After  the  operation  she  was  confined  to  her  bed  for  thirty 
or  forty  days  and  compelled  to  take  the  greatest  precautions 
during  her  convalescence.  Already  the  poor  invalid's 
nerves  were  extremely  weak  and  irritable.  The  prepara- 
tions, long  and  wearisome,  exhausted  and  exasperated  her 
so  much  that,  more  than  once,  she  tried  to  throw  herself 
out  of  bed,  to  revolt,  to  escape  the  brutal  punishment  which 
violated  her,  humiliated  her,  degraded  her. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  to  me  one  day  with  bitterness, 
"  aren't  you  disgusted  with  me  when  you  think  of  it  ?  Oh, 
how  horrible  it  is  !  " 

And  she  made  a  gesture  of  repugnance  at  herself,  frowned, 
then  was  silent. 

Another  day  as  I  entered  her  room  she  cried : 

"  Go  away,  go  away,  Tullio  !  Please  go  away  !  You  can 
come  back  when  I'm  better.  If  you  stay  here  you'll  hate 
me.  I'm  odious  now,  odious — don't  look  at  me." 

Sobs  choked  her.  The  same  day,  a  few  hours  later, 
while  I  was  standing  by  her  bedside  in  silence,  because  I 
thought  she  was  about  to  doze  off,  she  let  fall  these  obscure 
words,  pronounced  with  the  strange  tone  of  someone  speak- 
ing in  his  sleep : 

"  Yes,  really,  I  did  it.     It  was  a  good  idea " 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Juliana  ?  " 

She  did  not  reply. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Juliana  ?  " 

She  replied  only  by  a  contraction  of  her  mouth,  which 
was  meant  to  be  a  smile. 

I  believed  I  understood.  And  a  tumultuous  wave  of 
regret,  tenderness,  and  pity  assailed  me.  I  would  have 
given  everything  so  that  at  that  moment  she  could  have  read 


12  THE    INTRUDER. 

in  my  soul,  that  she  could  have  observed  there  in  its  pleni- 
tude my  inexpressible  and  consequently  vain  emotion. 
"  Forgive  me  !  Forgive  me  !  Tell  me  what  I  must  do  to 
obtain  my  forgiveness,  to  make  you  forget  all  the  pain  I 
have  caused  you.  ...  I  will  come  back  to  you,  I  will 
be  entirely  yours,  forever.  It  is  you,  you  alone  whom  I 
have  truly  loved ;  you  are  the  only  love  of  my  life.  My  soul 
ceaselessly  turns  towards  you,  and  seeks  you,  and  regrets 
you.  I  swear  it !  When  away  from  you  I  have  never  felt 
sincere  joy,  I  have  never  had  an  instant  of  complete  forget- 
fulness.  Never,  never  !  I  swear  it !  You  alone,  of  all  the 
women  in  the  world,  are  the  living  expression  of  goodness 
and  gentleness.  You  are  the  best  and  the  sweetest  creature 
that  I  have  ever  dreamed  of.  You  are  the  Unique  !  And 
yet  I  have  offended  you,  I  have  caused  you  to  suffer,  I 
have  made  you  think  of  death  as  a  desirable  thing  !  Oh  ! 
you  will  pardon  me ;  but  I — I  can  never  forgive  myself. 
You,  you  will  forget;  but  I,  I  shall  not  forget.  I  shall 
always  be  in  my  own  eyes  an  unworthy  being,  and  the 
devotion  of  all  my  life  will  not  seem  a  sufficient  repara- 
tion. Henceforth,  as  formerly,  you  will  be  my  mistress, 
my  friend,  my  sister;  as  formerly,  you  will  be  my  guardian 
and  my  adviser.  I  will  tell  you  everything,  I  will  reveal 
everything  to  you.  You  will  be  my  soul.  And  you  will 
get  better.  It  is  I  who  will  cure  you.  You  will  see  how 
tender  your  doctor  will  be  to  you.  Oh,  you  already  know 
his  tenderness.  Remember,  remember  !  Then,  too,  you 
were  ill,  and  you  wouldn't  have  any  other  doctor  than  me. 
And  I  did  not  leave  your  bedside  night  or  day.  And  you 
used  to  say :  '  Juliana  will  always  remember,  always ! ' 
And  you  had  tears  in  your  eyes  and  I  drank  them,  trem- 
bling. Saint !  Saint !  Remember.  When  you  can  get  up, 
when  you  are  convalescent,  we'll  go  back  there,  we'll 


THE    INTRUDER.  13 

return  to  the  Lilacs.  You  will  still  be  a  little  weak,  but 
you'll  feel  so  well  !  And  I,  I  shall  feel  once  more  my  old- 
time  gayety  and  I  will  make  you  smile,  I  will  make  you 
laugh.  You  yourself  will  have  once  more  your  sweet  bursts 
of  joy  that  rejuvenated  my  heart,  you  will  have  once  more 
your  exquisite  girl-like  airs,  and  you'll  wear  once  more  on 
your  shoulders  that  plait  of  hair  which  pleased  me  so 
much.  We  are  young.  We  can,  if  you  wish  it,  reconquer 
happiness.  We'll  live — yes — we'll  live.  .  .  .  That 

is  how  I  spoke  inwardly;  but  the  words  did  not  issue  from 
my  lips.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  was  moved  and  that  my  eyes 
became  moist ;  I  knew  that  my  emotion  was  temporary, 
that  these  promises  were  deceptive.  I  knew  also  that  Juli- 
ana would  not  entertain  any  illusions  and  that  she  would 
reply  by  that  feeble  and  distrustful  smile  which,  at  other 
times,  I  had  already  noticed  on  her  lips.  That  smile 
meant :  "  Yes,  I  know,  you  are  good  and  you  would  like  to 
spare  me  pain  ;  but  you  are  not  master  of  yourself,  you  can- 
not resist  the  fatalities  that  control  you.  Why  should  I 
blind  my  eyes  to  the  truth  ?  " 

That  day  I  said  nothing;  and  the  days  that  followed,  in 
spite  of  the  frequent  return  of  the  same  confused  impulse 
of  repentance,  vague  intentions,  and  dreams,  I  did  not  dare 
to  speak.  "To  come  back  to  her,  you  must  abandon 
those  things  you  delight  in,  that  woman  who  corrupts  you. 
Have  you  the  strength  to  do  it  ?  "  I  replied  to  myself: 
"  Who  knows  ?"  And  I  waited  from  day  to  day  for  the 
strength  that  did  not  come ;  I  waited  from  day  to  day  for 
some  event,  without  knowing  what,  that  could  determine  my 
resolution,  render  it  inevitable.  My  mind  pictured  our 
new  life,  the  slow  reblossoming  of  our  legitimate  love,  the 
strange  savor  of  certain  sensations  renewed.  "  We'll  go 
back  there,  to  the  Lilacs,  to  the  house  where  still  linger  our 


14  THE    INTRUDER. 

sweetest  memories  ;  we'll  be  there  alone,  all  alone,  because 
Maria  and  Natalia  would  stay  with  my  mother  at  the 
Badiola."  The  weather  would  be  mild  and  the  invalid 
would  not  leave  the  support  of  my  arms,  in  those  familiar 
paths  where  each  of  our  footsteps  would  awaken  a  souvenir. 
At  certain  moments  her  pale  face  would  suddenly  be 
covered  with  a  faint  flush,  and  we  should  both  feel  a  little 
timidity  in  each  other's  presence ;  at  others,  we  should 
seem  preoccupied ;  at  others,  we  should  avoid  each  other's 
gaze.  Why  ?  Finally,  one  day,  the  suggestion  of  the 
spot  would  master  us,  and  I  should  be  bold  enough  to 
speak  to  her  of  the  early  days.  "  Do  you  remember  ?  Do 
you  remember?"  And,  little  by  little,  we  should  both 
feel  the  disturbance  grow  and  become  unbearable ;  we 
should  both  at  the  same  time  clasp  each  other  in  a  wild 
embrace,  we  should  kiss  each  other  on  the  mouth,  we  should 
feel  about  to  faint.  She  would  faint,  yes ;  and  I  would 
lift  her  in  my  arms,  I  would  call  her  by  the  names  that  a 
supreme  tenderness  would  suggest  to  me.  Her  eyes  would 
reopen,  all  the  veils  would  be  lifted  from  her  gaze,  and, 
for  an  instant,  her  very  soul  would  be  riveted  on  me  :  she 
would  appear  to  me  transfigured.  Then  the  old  ardor  would 
retake  possession  of  us,  we  should  reenter  into  the  great 
illusion.  We  should  both  have  but  a  unique  and  incessant 
thought ;  we  should  be  tormented  by  inexpressible  uneasi- 
ness. I  should  ask  her,  my  voice  trembling:  "  Are  you 
better?"  And,  by  its  tone,  she  would  understand  the  ques- 
tion that  this  question  concealed ;  and  she  would  reply, 
without  succeeding  in  dissimulating  a  thrill  :  "Not  yet." 
And  in  the  evening,  when  we  left  each  other  and  each 
retired  to  a  separate  chamber,  we  should  feel  as  if  dying 
of  anguish.  But,  one  morning,  with  an  unexpected  glance, 
her  eyes  would  say  to  me:  "To-day,  to-day  .  .  .  " 


THE    INTRUDER.  15 

And,  in  the  terror  of  this  divine  and  terrible  moment,  she 
would  take  some  childish  pretext  to  flee  from  me.  She 
would  say  to  me  :  "  Let  us  go  out,  Jet  us  go  out"  We  would 
go  out,  on  a  grayish,  cloudy,  oppressive  afternoon.  The 
walk  would  tire  us.  Drops  of  rain,  warm  as  tears,  would 
begin  to  fall  on  our  hands  and  faces.  I  would  say  to  her  in 
a  changed  voice  :  "  Let  us  go  home."  And,  on  the  thresh- 
old, unexpectedly  I  would  seize  her  in  my  arms,  I  would 
feel  her  abandon  herself  almost  fainting  in  my  arms,  I  would 
carry  her  upstairs  without  perceiving  her  weight.  It  is 
so  long  ago — so  long  ago  !  And  our  beings,  under  the  shock 
of  a  divine  and  terrible  sensation,  never  experienced  before, 
never  before  imagined,  would  be  utterly  exhausted.  And, 
afterwards,  she  would  appear  to  me  almost  as  if  she  were 
dying,  her  face  all  bathed  in  tears,  as  white  as  her  pillow. 

Ah  !  that  is  how  she  appeared  to  me,  it  was  dying  that  I 
saw  her,  the  morning  when  the  doctors  put  her  to  sleep  with 
chloroform ;  and  she,  feeling  that  she  was  slowly  sinking 
into  the  insensibility  of  death,  tried  two  or  three  times  to 
stretch  out  her  arms  to  me,  tried  to  call  me.  I  left  the 
room,  completely  overcome.  For  two  long  hours,  endless 
hours,  I  waited,  exasperating  my  suffering  by  excessive 
imagination.  And  my  man's  being  felt  a  pang  of  hopeless 
pity  for  that  poor  creature  whom  the  surgeon's  steel  was 
violating,  not  only  in  her  poor  flesh,  but  in  the  most 
sacred  recesses  of  her  soul,  in  the  most  delicate  sentiment 
that  a  woman  can  defend — pi  ty  for  her,  and  also  for  the 
others,  for  all  those  tormented  by  indefinite  aspirations 
towards  the  idealities  of  love,  abused  by  the  captious  dream 
with  which  virile  desire  surrounds  them,  insensibly  cap- 
tivated with  a  higher  life,  but  so  weak,  so  sickly,  so  imper- 
fect, irremediably  equal  to  the  females  of  the  beasts  by  the 
laws  of  nature  which  impose  on  them  the  duties  of  the 


l6  THE    INTRUDER. 

Species,  afflict  them  with  horrible  maladies,  leave  them 
exposed  to  all  kinds  of  degeneration.  And  then,  shuddering 
in  every  fibre,  I  saw  in  them,  I  saw  in  all  of  them,  with 
frightful  lucidity  the  original  wound.  .  .  ." 

When  I  reentered  Juliana's  room  she  was  still  under  the 
influence  of  the  anaesthetic,  unconscious,  silent,  still,  like 
a  dying  woman.  My  mother  was  very  pale  and  very  much 
excited.  But  it  seemed  that  the  operation  was  a  success. 
The  doctors  appeared  pleased.  The  assistant  surgeon  was 
rolling  a  bandage.  Things  gradually  began  to  be  orderly 
and  quiet  again. 

The  invalid  remained  a  long  time  unconscious,  and 
a  slight  fever  set  in.  In  the  night  she  was  taken  with 
spasms ;  laudanum  did  not  quiet  her.  I  was  nearly 
frantic ;  the  spectacle  of  these  horrible  sufferings  made  me 
-think  that  she  was  going  to  die.  I  no  longer  know  either 
what  I  said  or  what  I  did.  I  suffered  with  her. 

The  following  day  the  condition  of  the  patient  improved; 
then,  from  day  to  day,  the  improvement  continued.  Her 
strength  came  back  very  slowly. 

I  did  not  quit  her  bedside.  I  showed  a  kind  of  ostentation 
in  recalling  to  her,  by  my  acts,  the  nurse  of  the  old  days  ; 
but  my  actual  feeling  was  very  different.  It  was  not  always 
the  feeling  of  a  brother  only.  It  often  happened  to  me 
that  my  mind  was  preoccupied  with  a  phrase  written  by  my 
mistress,  at  the  very  moment  that  I  was  reading  to  her 
some  chapter  from  one  of  her  favorite  books.  I  did  not 
succeed  in  forgetting  the  Absent.  Nevertheless,  when  in 
replying  to  a  letter  I  felt  myself  a  little  distracted  and 
almost  bored,  during  those  strange  respites  that  are  still  left 
to  us  by  a  strong  passion  the  object  of  which  is  far  from 
us,  I  thought  I  recognized  by  this  sign  that  I  no  longer 
loved,  and  I  repeated  to  myself  :  "  Who  knows  ?  " 


THE    INTRUDER.  17 

One  day,  in  my  presence,  my  mother  said  to  Juliana : 

"  When  you  are  up,  when  you  can  walk,  we'll  all  go 
together  to  the  Badiola;  won't  we,  Tullio  ?" 

Juliana  looked  at  me. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  I  replied,  without  hesitation,  without 
reflection.  "  But  first,  Juliana  and  I  will  go  to  the  Lilacs." 

And  she  looked  at  me  again,  and  she  smiled,  an  unex- 
pected, indescribable  smile,  with  an  almost  infantile  ex- 
pression of  credulity.  It  looked  like  the  smile  of  a  sick 
baby  to  whom  has  been  made  a  great  promise  which  it  did 
not  hope  for.  And  she  lowered  her  eyelids  ;  but  she  con- 
tinued to  smile,  and  her  half-closed  eyes  seemed  to  con- 
template something,  far  away,  very  far.  And  the  smile 
faded  away,  faded  away,  without  disappearing. 

How  she  pleased  me  then  !  How  I  adored  her  at  that 
moment !  How  I  felt  that  nothing  in  the  world  equals  the 
simple  emotion  of  kindness  ! 

Infinite  kindness  emanated  from  this  creature,  penetrated 
all  my  being,  filled  my  heart.  She  was  lying  on  the  bed, 
supported  by  two  or  three  pillows;  her  face,  amid  the 
mass  of  untied  brown  hair,  seemed  of  extraordinarily  deli- 
cate mould,  a  sort  of  visible  immateriality.  She  had  on 
a  night-dress  tightly  closed  at  the  neck,  tight  around  the 
wrists,  and  her  hands  rested  flat  on  the  counterpane,  so 
pale  that  they  were  only  distinguishable  from  the  linen  by 
the  blue  of  their  veins. 

I  took  one  of  these  hands  (my  mother  had  just  left  the 
room),  and  I  said  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  So  we'll  return  there — to  the  Lilacs." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  invalid. 

And  we  became  silent,  to  prolong  our  emotion,  to  pre- 
serve our  illusion.  We  both  knew  the  profound  meaning 
concealed  under  these  few  whispered  words.  A  sagacious 
2 


l8  THE    INTRUDER. 

instinct  warned  us  not  to  insist,  not  to  define  anything,  not 
to  go  too  far.  If  we  had  said  a  word  more  we  should 
have  found  ourselves  face  to  face  with  the  exclusive 
realities  of  the  illusion  on  which  our  souls  existed  and  in 
which,  imperceptibly,  they  lost  themselves  with  rapturous 
dreams. 

One  afternoon — we  were  almost  always  alone — we  were 
reading,  stopping  every  now  and  then,  bent  together  over 
the  same  page,  and  following  the  same  lines  with  our  eyes. 
It  was  a  volume  of  poetry,  and  we  were  giving  to  the  verses 
an  intensity  of  meaning  which  they  did  not  possess.  Silent 
ourselves,  we  spoke  to  each  other  by  the  mouth  of  the 
poet.  I  myself  marked  with  my  nail  the  lines  which 
seemed  to  interpret  to  my  thoughts  : 

Je  veux,  guide  par  vous,  beaux  yeux  aux  flammes  douces, 
Par  toi  conduit,  6  main  ou  tremblera  ma  main, 

Marcher  droit,  que  ce  soit  par  des  sentiers  de  mousses 
Ou  que  rocs  et  cailloux  encombrent  le  chemin, 

Oui,  je  veux  marcher  droit  et  calme  dans  la  Vie  .   .  . 

And  she,  after  reading,  sank  back  for  an  instant  on  her 
pillows,  her  eyes  closed,  and  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
smile  on  her  lips  pointed  to  the  passage : 

Toi  la  bonte,  toi  le  sourire, 
N'es-tu  pas  le  conseil  aussi, 
Le  bon  conseil  loyal  et  brave  .  .  . 

But  on  her  breast  I  saw  the  batiste  follow  the  rhythm  of 
respiration  with  an  easy  grace  which  began  to  disturb  me, 
as  also  the  feeble  perfume  of  iris  which  was  exhaled  by  the 
bedclothes  and  pillows.  I  hoped  and  I  expected  that, 
seized  by  a  sudden  languor,  she  would  put  her  arm  around 
my  neck  and  put  her  cheek  to  mine,  so  close  that  I  could 


THE    INTRUDER.  19 

feel  myself  touched  by  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  She  laid 
her  slender  thumb  on  the  book,  and  with  her  nail  made  a 
mark  on  the  margin,  guiding  my  emotion  : 

La  voix  vous  fut  connue  (et  chere  ?), 
Mais,  a  present,  elle  est  voilee 
Comme  une  veuve  clesolee  .  .  . 

Elle  dit,  la  voix  reconnue, 

Que  la  bonte,  c'est  notre  vie  ... 

Elle  parle  aussi  de  la  gloire, 
D'etre  simple  sans  plus  attendre, 

Et  de  noces  d'or,  et  du  tendre 
Bonheur  d'une  paix  sans  victoire. 

Acceuillez  la  voix  qui  persiste 
Dans  son  nai'f  epithalame. 
Allez,  rien  n'est  meilleur  a  Tame 
Que  de  faire  une  ame  moins  triste  ! 

I  seized  her  wrist,  and,  slowly,  I  lowered  my  head  until 
I  touched  with  my  lips  the  hollow  of  her  hand ;  and  I  mur- 
mured : 

"  Could  you— forget  ?" 

She  closed  my  mouth  and  uttered  her  great  word : 

"Silence!" 

At  that  moment  my  mother  came  in  to  announce  the 
visit  of  Signora  Talice.  I  noticed  Juliana's  impatient 
little  gesture,  and  I  felt  irritated  myself  against  the 
importunate  visitor.  Juliana  sighed  : 

"Oh!  mio  Dio!" 

"Tell  her  that  Juliana  is  sleeping,"  I  suggested  to  my 
mother  in  an  almost  supplicating  tone. 

She  made  me  a  sign  that  the  visitor  was  waiting  in  the 
adjoining  room.  We  must  see  her. 


20  THE    INTRUDER. 

This  Signora  Talice  was  a  spiteful  and  fastidious  gossip. 
Every  few  moments  she  glanced  at  me  with  curiosity. 
In  the  course  of  conversation,  my  mother  happened  to  say 
that  I  had  sat  with  the  invalid  all  day  almost  without 
interruption,  and  Signora  Talice,  looking  fixedly  at  me, 
said  in  a  tone  of  manifest  irony  : 

"  What  an  ideal  husband  !  " 

She  finally  irritated  me  so  that  I  found  a  pretext  to  leave 
the  room. 

I  left  the  house.  On  the  steps  I  met  Maria  and  Natalia 
coming  in  with  their  governess.  As  usual  they  assailed  me 
with  an  infinity  of  caresses,  and  Maria,  the  elder,  handed 
me  several  letters  that  the  janitor  had  given  her.  Among 
them  I  suddenly  recognized  the  letter  of  the  Absent.  And 
then  I  escaped  from  their  caresses  with  a  sort  of  impa- 
tience. As  soon  as  I  was  in  the  street  I  stopped  to  read. 

It  was  a  short  letter,  but  full  of  passion,  with  two  or 
three  of  those  singularly  incisive  phrases  that  Teresa  knew 
how  to  write  when  she  wished  to  disturb  me.  She  an- 
nounced her  return  to  Florence  on  the  twentieth  to  the 
twenty-sixth  of  that  month,  and  said  she  hoped  to  meet  me 
as  before.  She  promised  to  furnish  me  with  more  precise 
particulars  concerning  the  rendezvous. 

In  a  second  all  the  phantoms  of  the  recent  illusions  and 
emotions  became  detached  from  my  mind  like  the  flowers 
of  a  tree  shaken  by  a  gust  of  wind.  And,  as  the  fallen 
flowers  are  forever  lost  to  the  tree,  so  these  things  of  the 
soul  were  lost  to  me.  They  became  foreign  to  my  being. 
I  made  an  effort,  I  tried  to  regain  possession  of  myself;  I 
did  not  succeed.  I  began  to  walk  through  the  streets, 
aimlessly ;  I  entered  the  shop  of  a  confectioner,  I  entered 
a  book-shop ;  I  bought  bonbons  and  books,  mechanically. 
Twilight  fell;  the  street  lamps  were  lighted;  the  pave- 


THE    INTRUDER.  21 

merits  were  crowded ;  two  or  three  ladies  bowed  to  me 
from  their  carriages ;  one  of  my  friends  passed  quickly, 
laughing  and  talking  with  his  mistress,  who  held  a  bunch  of 
roses  in  her  hand.  The  maleficent  breath  of  fashionable 
life  penetrated  me,  awakened  my  curiosity,  my  desires,  my 
jealousies.  My  blood  seemed  suddenly  aflame.  Certain 
images,  extraordinarily  distinct,  passed  before  my  mind  like 
a  lightning  flash.  The  Absent  regained  possession  of  me 
merely  by  certain  "expressions"  of  her  letter,  and  all 
my  desires  went  out  towards  her,  madly. 

But  when  the  first  tumult  was  appeased,  while  I  was  re- 
ascending  the  steps  of  my  house,  I  understood  the  gravity 
of  what  had  taken  place,  of  what  I  had  done ;  I  understood 
that,  a  few  hours  before,  I  had  effectively  tightened  the 
bond,  I  had  pledged  my  faith,  I  had  given  a  promise,  a 
tacit  but  solemn  promise,  to  a  creature  still  weak  and  ill. 
I  could  not  break  my  word  without  infamy,  and  I  was  con- 
scious of  it.  Then  I  was  sorry  I  had  not  mistrusted  this 
deceitful  compassion;  I  was  sorry  I  had  dwelt  too  long  on 
this  sentimental  languor!  And  I  examined  minutely  my 
acts,  my  words,  of  that  day,  with  the  cold  subtil ty  of  a 
dishonest  tradesman  who  seeks  a  quarrel  in  order  to  avoid 
the  obligations  of  a  contract  he  has  made.  My  last  words 
had  been  too  serious.  That  "  Could  you  forget  ?"  pro- 
nounced in  that  tone,  after  the  reading  of  those  verses,  had 
had  the  value  of  a  definite  understanding.  And  that 
"  Silence  !  "  of  Juliana  had  been  the  seal  of  the  contract. 

"  But,"  I  thought,  "  was  she  really  convinced,  this  time, 
of  my  repentance  ?  Has  she  not  always  been  a  little  scep- 
tical concerning  my  good  impulses  ?"  And  I  saw  once 
more  that  weak  and  unbelieving  smile  that,  on  former 
occasions,  I  had  already  noticed  on  her  lips.  "If  in  the 
secret  recesses  of  her  heart  she  had  not  believed,  or,  again, 


22  THE    INTRUDER. 

if  her  illusion  had  suddenly  faded  away,  then  perhaps  my 
retraction  would  be  less  serious,  would  not  greatly  wound 
her  or  offend  her.  There  would  merely  have  been  an 
episode  without  consequence,  and  I  should  resume  my 
former  liberty.  The  Lilacs  would  still  be  a  dream  to 
her."  But  then  I  saw  the  other  smile,  that  new,  unex- 
pected, credulous  smile  which  had  appeared  on  her  lips  at 
the  mention  of  the  Lilacs.  What  could  I  do  ?  What 
should  I  decide  ?  What  attitude  should  I  take  ?  Teresa 
Raffo's  letter  had  the  same  effect  on  me  as  a  severe 
burn. 

When  I  reentered  Juliana's  room,  I  noticed  at  once 
that  she  was  waiting  for  me.  She  seemed  pleased.  Her 
eyes  shone  brilliantly.  Her  cheeks  had  more  color. 

"  Wherever  have  you  been  ?  "  she  asked,  laughing. 

"  Signora  Talice  drove  me  away,"  I  replied. 

She  laughed  again,  a  limpid  and  young  laugh  which  trans- 
figured her.  I  held  out  to  her  the  books  and  the  box  of 
sweetmeats. 

"  For  me  ?  "  she  cried  joyously,  like  a  greedy  child. 

And  she  hastened  to  open  the  box  with  graceful  little 
gestures,  which  aroused  in  my  mind  fragments  of  distant 
memories. 

"For  me  ?" 

She  took  a  bonbon,  made  a  motion  as  if  about  to  carry 
it  to  her  mouth,  hesitated  a  little,  let  it  fall  back,  thrust 
aside  the  box,  and  said : 

"  Later,  later " 

"  You  know,  Tullio,"  explained  my  mother,  "  she's  not 
eaten  anything  yet.  She  wanted  to  wait  for  you." 

"Oh,  I  haven't  told  you  yet,"  interrupted  Juliana,  her 
face  flushing.  "  I  haven't  told  you  yet  that  the  doctor 
came  during  your  absence.  He  said  I  am  much  better. 


THE    INTRUDER.  23 

I  may  get  up  on  Thursday.  You  understand,  Tullio  ?  I 
may  get  up  on  Thursday." 

Then  she  added : 

"  In  ten  or  fifteen  days,  at  the  most,  I  shall  even  be  able 
to  undertake  a  journey." 

After  a  moment's  reverie  she  added,  in  a  lower  tone  : 

"  The  Lilacs  !" 

So  that  had  been  the  unique  object  of  her  thoughts,  the 
unique  object  of  her  dreams  !  She  had  believed  ;  she 
believed.  I  had  difficulty  in  dissimulating  my  anguish.  I 
busied  myself,  perhaps  with  excessive  eagerness,  with  the 
preparations  for  her  little  dinner.  It  was  I  who  put  the 
portable  table  on  her  knees. 

She  followed  all  my  movements  with  a  caressing  look 
that  pained  me.  "  Ah  !  if  she  could  guess  !  "  All  at  once 
my  mother  exclaimed  naively  : 

"  How  beautiful  you  are  to-night,  Juliana  !  " 

In  fact,  an  extraordinary  animation  lit  up  her  features, 
brightened  her  eyes,  completely  rejuvenated  her.  My 
mother's  exclamation  made  her  blush,  and  during  the 
whole  evening  her  cheeks  preserved  a  reflection  of  that 
redness.  She  repeated : 

"  On  Thursday  I  will  get  up.  Thursday — in  three  days  ! 
I  shan't  know  how  to  walk  any  more " 

She  spoke  persistently  of  her  recovery,  of  our  approach- 
ing departure.  She  asked  my  mother  for  news  of  the  villa, 
of  the  garden. 

"  I  planted  a  willow  branch  near  the  basin,  the  last  time  I 
was  there.  Do  you  remember,  Tullio  ?  Who  knows  if  we 
shall  find  it  again " 

"Yes,"  replied  my  mother,  beaming;  "yes,  you  will 
find  it  again.  It  has  grown  since  then;  it  is  a  tree  now. 
Ask  Federico." 


24  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  Really?     Really  ?     Tell  me,  mother " 

It  seemed  as  if  at  that  moment  this  trifling  detail  had 
incalculable  importance  in  her  eyes.  She  began  to  prat- 
tle. And  I  was  astonished  that  she  could  venture  so  far 
into  the  illusion.  I  wondered  at  the  transfiguration  that 
was  the  result  of  her  dream.  "  Why,  this  time,  has  she 
believed?  How  comes  it  that  she  permits  herself  this  trans- 
port ?  What  gives  her  this  unusual  confidence  ?  ' '  And 
the  thought  of  my  approaching  infamy,  inevitable  perhaps, 
froze  the  blood  in  my  veins.  "  Why  inevitable  ?  Shall  I 
never  be  able  to  free  myself,  then  ?  /  must,  I  must  keep 
my  promise.  My  mother  was  a  witness  of  my  promise.  I 
will  keep  it  at  any  cost."  And,  with  an  inward  effort,  I 
might  say  with  an  upheaval  of  my  conscience,  I  emerged 
from  the  tumult  of  my  uncertainties,  and  I  went  back  to 
Juliana  by  a  sudden  conversion  of  my  soul. 

I  found  her  as  charming  as  ever,  full  of  animation,  life, 
and  youth.  She  reminded  me  of  the  Juliana  of  former 
days — the  Juliana  who,  so  often,  amidst  the  calm  of 
domestic  life,  I  had  suddenly  taken  in  my  arms,  as  if  in  a 
sudden  frenzy. 

"  No,  no,  mother;  do  not  make  me  drink  any  more,"  she 
pleaded,  staying  the  hand  of  my  mother,  who  was  pouring 
out  some  wine  for  her.  "  I  have  already  drunk  too  much 
without  noticing  it.  What  delicious  Chablis  it  is  !  Do 
you  remember,  Tullio  ?" 

She  laughed,  looking  straight  at  me  as  she  recalled  the 
love  memories  over  which  floated  the  delicate  vapor  of  that 
pale,  slightly  bitter  wine,  her  favorite  beverage. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  I  replied. 

She  half-closed  her  eyes,  with  a  slight  trembling  of  the 
lashes.  Then  she  said  : 

"It's  warm,  isn't  it  ?     My  ears  are  burning.*' 


THE    INTRUDER.  25 

She  took  her  head  between  her  hands  to  feel  how  hot  it 
was.  The  lamp,  placed  near  the  bed,  threw  a  bright  light 
on  her  long  profile,  causing  to  glitter  the  few  golden 
threads  in  the  depths  of  her  hair,  where  the  delicate  and 
tiny  ear  peeped  out.  While  I  helped  to  clear  the  table 
(my  mother  and  the  servant  had  gone  out  for  a  moment 
and  were  in  an  adjoining  room),  she  called  me  in  a  low 
voice : 

"Tullio!" 

And,  drawing  me  furtively  to  her,  she  kissed  my  cheek. 

Did  she  not  mean  by  this  kiss  to  reclaim  me  entirely, 
body  and  soul,  forever  ?  Did  not  such  an  act,  coming 
from  her,  so  reserved  and  proud,  signify  that  she  wished  to 
forget  all,  that  she  had  already  forgotten  all,  so  as  to  live 
once  more  a  new  life  with  me  ?  How  could  she  have 
yielded  to  my  love  with  more  grace,  with  greater  confi- 
dence ?  In  an  instant,  the  sister  became  once  more  the 
lover.  The  impeccable  sister  had  retained  in  her  blood  and 
in  the  depths  of  her  veins  the  memory  of  my  caresses,  the 
organic  recollection  of  sensations  so  vivid  and  tenacious 
in  women.  In  thinking  of  it  again  when  I  found  myself 
alone,  I  had  a  fleeting  vision  of  distant  days,  of  evenings 
long  gone  by.  A  June  twilight,  warm  and  roseate,  in 
which  floated  mysterious  perfumes,  dangerous  to  the  soli- 
tary, to  those  who  regret,  or  those  who  desire.  I  enter  the 
room.  She  is  seated  near  the  window  with  a  book  on  her 
knees,  very,  very  pale,  in  the  attitude  of  one  about  to  faint. 

"  Juliana  !  "  She  shudders  and  recovers  herself.  "  What 
are  you  doing  ?"  "Nothing,"  she  answers.  But  an 
indefinable  change,  as  if  she  were  undergoing  an  inward 
struggle  to  repress  something,  passed  in  her  black  eyes. 
How  many  times  had  her  poor  flesh  been  compelled  to 
suffer  these  tortures  since  the  day  of  the  sad  renouncement ! 


26  THE    INTRUDER. 

My  mind  dwelt  upon  the  images  raised  by  the  recent  trifling 
incident.  The  singular  excitement  displayed  by  Juliana 
reminded  me  again  of  divers  exhibitions  of  her  physical 
and  extraordinarily  acute  sensibility.  Perhaps  the  malady 
had  increased,  had  provoked  this  sensibility.  And  I,  curi- 
ous and  perverse,  thought  I  should  be  able  to  see  the 
fragile  life  of  the  convalescent  inflame  and  dissolve 
under  my  caresses ;  I  thought,  too,  that  this  voluptuousness 
would  have,  as  it  were,  a  flavor  of  sin.  "  If  she  died 
from  it,"  I  thought.  Certain  words  of  the  surgeon  re- 
curred to  me  in  a  sinister  way.  And,  because  of  the  cruelty 
that  is  at  the  heart  of  every  sensual  man,  the  peril,  instead 
of  frightening  me,  attracted  me.  I  lingered  over  this  ex- 
amination of  my  feelings  with  that  species  of  bitter  com- 
plaisance, mixed  with  disgust,  that  I  brought  to  bear  upon 
the  analysis  of  all  the  inner  manifestations  in  which  I 
believed  I  discovered  a  proof  of  the  natural  wickedness  of 
man.  Why  does  human  nature  possess  that  horrible  fac- 
ulty of  feeling  acute  pleasure  when  one  knows  one  is  harm- 
ing the  creature  who  gives  the  pleasure  ?  Why  is  the  germ 
of  this  execrable  sadic  perversion  to  be  found  in  every 
man  who  loves  and  desires  ? 

It  was  these  unhealthy  reflections,  rather  than  the  first 
instinctive  impulse  of  kindness  and  pity,  that  strengthened 
during  the  night  my  plans  in  favor  of  the  Abused.  Even 
from  a  distance,  the  Absent  still  empoisoned  me.  To  con- 
quer the  resistance  of  my  egotism,  it  was  necessary  for  me 
to  oppose  to  the  thought  of  the  delicious  depravity  of  that 
woman  the  image  of  a  new  depravity,  very  choice,  that 
I  promised  myself  to  cultivate  at  leisure  in  the  virtuous 
security  of  my  own  house.  Then,  with  the  alchemistic 
talent  that  I  possessed  for  combining  the  several  products 
of  my  mind,  I  analyzed  the  series  of  the  characteristic 


THE    INTRUDER.  27 

states  of  soul  determined  in  me  by  Juliana  at  the  various 
epochs  of  our  common  existence,  and  I  drew  from  it  cer- 
tain elements  that  I  used  in  the  construction  of  a  new, 
artificial  state,  singularly  appropriate  for  increasing  the 
intensity  of  the  sensations  that  I  wished  to  experience. 
Thus,  for  instance,  with  the  object  of  rendering  still  more 
acute  the  savor  of  the  sin  that  attracted  me  and  exalted  my 
wicked  phantasy,  I  sought  to  picture  to  myself  the  moments 
in  which  I  had  most  deeply  expressed  the  fraternal  feeling, 
the  moments  in  which  Juliana  had  seemed  most  like  a  sister. 
And  he  who  dwelt  on  these  wretched  maniacal  subtleties 
was  the  man  who,  a  few  hours  before,  had  felt  his  heart 
palpitate  with  a  simple  emotion  of  kindness  at  the  glimmer 
of  an  unexpected  smile  !  These  contradictory  crises  made 
up  his  life — an  illogical,  fragmentary,  incoherent  life. 
There  were  in  him  all  kinds  of  tendencies,  the  possibility 
of  every  opposite,  and,  between  these  opposites,  an  infinity 
of  intermediary  degrees,  and,  between  these  tendencies,  an 
infinity  of  combinations.  According  to  the  weather  and 
according  to  the  place,  according  to  the  accidental  shock 
of  circumstances,  of  an  insignificant  fact,  of  a  word, 
according  to  the  inner  influences,  even  still  more  obscure, 
the  permanent  basis  of  his  being  assumed  the  most  changing, 
the  most  fugitive,  the  strangest  aspects.  In  him  a  special 
organic  condition  corresponded  to  every  special  tendency 
while  strengthening  it,  and  this  tendency  became  a  centre 
of  attraction  toward  which  converged  all  the  conditions  and 
tendencies  directly  associated,  and  the  association  spread 
further  and  further.  Then  his  centre  of  gravity  was  dis- 
placed;  his  personality  was  changed  to  another  personal- 
ity. Silent  floods  of  blood  and  ideas  caused  to  blossom  on 
the  permanent  basis  of  his  being,  either  gradually  or  all 
at  once,  new  souls.  He  became  multanime. 


28  THE    INTRUDER. 

I  insist  on  this  episode  because  really  it  marks  the  decisive 
point. 

The  following  morning,  on  awakening,  I  retained  only  a 
confused  notion  of  all  that  had  happened.  Cowardice  and 
anguish  seized  upon  me  again,  just  as  soon  as  I  had  before 
my  eyes  a  second  letter  from  Teresa  Raffo,  who  decided 
upon  the  2ist  for  our  meeting  at  Florence  and  gave  me 
precise  instructions.  The  2ist  was  a  Sunday,  and  on 
Thursday,  the  i8th,  Juliana  rose  for  the  first  time.  I 
argued  for  a  long  time  with  myself  all  the  possibilities, 
and,  arguing,  I  began  to  compromise.  "  There  is  certainly 
no  doubt  about  it;  the  rupture  is  necessary,  inevitable. 
But  how  to  break  off  ?  Under  what  pretext  ?  Can  I 
announce  my  decision  to  Teresa  in  a  mere  letter  ?  My 
last  letter  to  her  was  still  warm  with  passion,  filled  with 
longing.  How  can  I  justify  the  sudden  change?  Does  the 
poor  woman  deserve  so  unexpected  and  brutal  a  blow  ?  She 
has  loved  me  much,  she  loves  me  still,  and  there  was  a 
time  when  she  braved  dangers  for  my  sake.  And  I  too 
have  loved  her.  .  .  .  I  still  love  her.  Our  passion, 
powerful  and  strange,  is  known;  she  is  envied,  and  she 
is  also  watched.  How  many  men  aspire  to  take  my  place  ! 
Too  numerous  to  count."  In  making  a  rapid  review  of  my 
most  redoubtable  rivals,  of  my  most  probable  successors,  I 
pictured  to  myself  their  forms.  "  Is  there  in  Rome  a 
woman  more  blonde,  more  fascinating,  more  desirable  than 
she  ?"  The  same  sudden  fire  that  had  heated  my  blood 
the  evening  before  gushed  through  every  vein,  and  the  idea 
of  voluntarily  renouncing  her  seemed  to  me  absurd,  inad- 
missible. "No,  no;  I  shall  never  have  the  courage;  I 
never  will  and  never  can." 

This  tumult  calmed,  I  followed  my  useless  debate,  at  the 
same  time  retaining  the  conviction  in  the  depths  of  my 


THE   INTRUDER.  29 

being  that,  when  the  hour  came,  it  would  be  impossible  for 
me  not  to  go.  Yet  I  had  the  courage,  when  I  quitted  Juli- 
ana's room  still  vibrating  with  emotion,  I  had  the  supreme 
courage  to  write  to  her  who  claimed  me :  "  I  will  not 
come."  I  invented  a  pretext;  and,  I  remember  clearly,  a 
kind  of  instinct  made  me  choose  one  that  would  not 
appear  very  important  to  her.  "  So  you  hope  that  she  will 
pay  no  attention  to  the  pretext,  and  will  command  you  to 
go  ?  "  asked  an  inner  voice.  I  found  myself  without  an 
answer  to  this  sarcasm,  and  an  irritation,  an  atrocious 
anxiety,  took  possession  of  me,  and  gave  me  no  more  peace. 
I  made  unheard-of  efforts  to  dissimulate  in  the  presence  of 
Juliana  and  my  mother;  I  carefully  avoided  being  left 
alone  with  the  poor  abused  one ;  each  moment  I  thought  I 
read  in  her  gentle,  humid  eyes  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  I 
thought  I  saw  a  cloud  pass  over  her  pure  brow. 

On  Wednesday  I  received  an  imperious  and  threatening 
telegram.  Did  I  not  rather  expect  it  ?  "  Either  you  will 
come,  or  you  will  never  see  me  again.  Answer."  I  an- 
swered :  "  I  will  come." 

As  soon  as  I  had  done  it,  under  the  impulse  of  that  spe- 
cies of  unconscious  superexcitation  that,  in  life,  accompa- 
nies every  decisive  act,  I  found  myself  singularly  solaced 
by  the  view  of  the  determined  turn  that  events  had  taken. 
The  feeling  of  my  own  irresponsibility,  of  the  necessity  of 
what  had  occurred  and  what  was  about  to  happen,  became 
very  profound.  "  If,  though  knowing  all  the  evil  that  I  do, 
though  condemning  myself,  I  cannot  act  in  any  other  man- 
ner, it  is  a  sign  that  I  obey  an  unknown  superior  power.  I 
am  the  victim  of  a  cruel,  ironical,  irresistible  destiny." 

Nevertheless,  I  had  scarcely  put  foot  on  the  threshold  of 
Juliana's  room  when  I  felt  the  pressure  on  my  heart  of  an 
enormous  weight,  and  I  stopped,  swaying,  between  the  por- 


30  THE    INTRUDER. 

tieres  that  hid  me.  "  A  look  will  suffice  her  to  divine  all,'* 
I  thought,  desperate.  And  I  was  on  the  point  of  turning 
back.  But  in  a  voice  that  had  never  before  seemed  so 
gentle  to  me,  she  said  : 

"Is  it  you,  Tullio?" 

Then  I  advanced  a  step.     She  exclaimed,  on  seeing  me  : 

"  What  ails  you  ?     Are  you  not  well  ?  " 

"  A  dizziness  .  .  .  It  is  already  gone,"  I  answered. 
And  I  felt  reassured  on  thinking :  "  She  has  not  guessed." 

In  fact  she  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion ;  and  it  seemed 
to  me  strange  that  it  should  be  so.  Should  I  prepare  her 
for  the  brutal  blow  ?  Should  I  speak  frankly,  or  concoct 
some  falsehood  out  of  pity  for  her  ?  Or  would  it  not  be 
better  to  go  away  unexpectedly,  without  letting  her  know, 
and  leave  a  letter  for  her  containing  my  confession  ?  What 
was  the  best  way  of  rendering  my  effort  less  painful,  of 
making  her  surprise  less  cruel  ? 

Alas  !  in  this  difficult  debate,  a  grievous  instinct  inclined 
me  to  consider  my  own  comfort  more  than  hers.  And 
without  the  least  doubt  I  should  have  chosen  the  method  of 
the  sudden  departure  and  the  explanatory  letter,  if  I  had 
not  been  prevented  from  doing  so  out  of  regard  for  my 
mother.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  spare  my  mother, 
always,  at  any  cost.  This  time,  too,  I  could  not  rid  myself 
of  the  inner  sarcasm :  "At  any  cost.  What  generosity  ! 
But  it  is  very  easy  for  you  to  return  to  the  old  conven- 
tions, and,  further,  very  safe.  This  time,  also,  if  you  exact 
it,  the  victim  will  endeavor  to  smile,  while  she  feels  she 
is  dying.  Count  on  her,  therefore,  and  do  not  concern 
yourself  about  the  rest,  O  generous  heart !  " 

At  times,  truly,  man  finds  a  singular  joy  in  feeling  a  sin- 
cere and  supreme  contempt  for  himself. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Tullio  ?  "  Juliana  inquired 


THE    INTRUDER.  31 

of  me  with  a  naive  gesture,  touching  me  between  the  eye- 
brows with  the  tip  of  her  finger,  as  if  to  arrest  my  thought. 

I  took  her  hand  without  replying.  And  my  very  silence, 
that  appeared  grave  to  me,  sufficed  to  modify  anew  the  con- 
dition of  my  mind.  There  was  so  much  gentleness  in  the 
voice,  in  the  gesture,  of  the  poor  deluded  woman  that  I 
became  tender,  and  felt  arise  the  enervating  emotion  that 
causes  tears  to  flow  and  which  is  called  pity  for  ones  self. 
I  felt  a  keen  desire  to  be  pitied.  At  the  same  time,  an 
inner  voice  whispered  :  "  Profit  by  this  disposition  of  your 
soul ;  but,  for  the  time  being,  reveal  nothing.  By  slightly 
exaggerating,  you  will  succeed  in  weeping,  without  difficulty. 
You  well  know  the  prodigious  effect  on  a  woman  of  the 
tears  of  a  man  whom  she  loves.  Juliana  will  be  distracted 
by  them ;  and  you  yourself  will  seem  to  be  crushed  by  some 
terrible  grief.  Then,  to-morrow,  when  you  tell  her  the 
truth,  the  recollection  of  your  tears  will  raise  you  in  her 
regard.  She  may  think  :  i  This  is  then  the  reason  why  he 
wept  yesterday.  Poor  fellow  ! '  And  it  will  be  to  your 
advantage  not  to  be  taken  for  an  odious  egotist;  on  the 
contrary,  people  will  think  that  you  have  vainly  fought  with 
all  your  might  against  the  evil  influences  that  have  posses- 
sion of  you,  and  that  you  are  afflicted  with  some  incurable 
malady,  that  you  bear  in  your  bosom  a  broken  heart. 
Profit,  therefore,  by  the  opportunity." 

"  Have  you  anything  on  your  conscience  ?"  asked  Juli- 
ana, in  a  low,  caressing  voice,  full  of  confidence. 

I  bent  my  head,  and,  assuredly,  was  affected.  But  the 
preoccupation  of  these  useful  tears  caused  a  diversion  in  my 
feelings  by  interrupting  the  spontaneity,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, retarded  the  physiological  phenomena  of  tears. 
"  If  I  could  not  weep  ?  Suppose  the  t?ars  do  not  come?" 
I  thought  with  ridiculous  and  puerile  fear,  as  if  my  fate 


32  THE    INTRUDER. 

depended  on  this  slight  material  fact  that  my  will  did  not 
suffice  to  produce.  And  yet  a  voice  always  the  same  whis- 
pered inwardly  :  "  What  a  mistake  !  What  a  mistake  ! 
No  opportunity  could  be  rribre  propitious.  One  can 
scarcely  see  one's  self  in  this  room.  What  effect  sobbing 
would  have  in  the  dark  !  " 

"  You  do  not  answer  me,  Tullio,"  went  on  Juliana,  after 
a  short  silence,  passing  her  hand  over  my  face  and  through 
my  hair  to  compel  me  to  raise  my  face.  "  You  know  you 
can  tell  me  everything." 

Ah  !  in  truth,  never  since  then  have  I  heard  a  human 
voice  of  such  sweetness.  Even  my  mother  had  never 
spoken  to  me  like  that. 

My  eyes  became  moist,  and  I  felt  between  my  lids  the 
warmth  of  the  tears.  "  Quick,  this  is  the  moment,  you 
must  burst  out."  But  it  was  only  a  solitary  tear.  And 
(shall  I  make  the  humiliating  confession  ?  but  it  is  in  the 
comedy  of  similar  puerilities  that  the  manifestations  of  the 
major  part  of  human  emotions  are  lowered) — and  I  raised 
my  face  to  permit  Juliana  to  notice  it,  and  for  an  instant  I 
felt  an  insane  anxiety  because  I  feared  that,  in  the  dark, 
she  would  be  unable  to  see  the  tear  glisten.  To  attract  her 
attention  to  it  I  gave  a  deep  sigh,  as  one  does  when  trying 
to  repress  a  sob.  Bringing  her  face  close  to  mine,  so  as  to 
examine  it  more  closely  and  made  uneasy  by  my  prolonged 
silence,  she  repeated : 

' '  You  don' t  answer  me  ?  ' ' 

Then  she  noticed  it;  and  to  be  more  certain,  she  seized 
my  head,  and  drew  it  back  with  an  almost  brutal  movement. 

"  You  are  crying." 

Her  voice  had  changed. 

I  freed  myself  as  if  confused.  I  rose  to  flee,  like  one 
who  is  no  longer  master  of  an  overflowing  affliction. 


THE    INTRUDER.  33 

"  Adieu,  adieu  !     Let  me  go.     Adieu,  Juliana  !  " 

And  I  left  the  room  precipitately. 

When  I  was  alone,  I  felt  disgusted  with  myself. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  party  given  in  honor  of  the 
invalid.  A  few  hours  later,  when  I  went  back  to  her  to  be 
present  as  usual  at  her  slight  meal,  I  found  that  my  mother 
was  with  her.  As  soon  as  my  mother  saw  me  she  cried : 

(i  Well,  Tullio,  to-morrow  is  the  great  day." 

Juliana  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  both  of  us  anxious. 
Then  we  spoke  of  the  morrow,  of  the  hour  at  which  she 
should  rise,  of  a  thousand  petty  details,  but  with  a  kind  of 
effort.  We  were  preoccupied.  I  wished  inwardly  that  my 
mother  would  not  leave  us  alone. 

I  was  fortunate ;  my  mother  left  us  only  once,  and  came 
in  again  almost  immediately.  In  the  interval,  Juliana  asked 
me  rapidly  : 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  you  a  short  time  ago  ? 
Won't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing." 

"  See  how  you  will  spoil  my  pleasure  !  " 

"  No,  no  .  .  .  I'll  tell  you,  I'll  tell  you  ... 
later.  Forget  it  for  the  present,  please." 

My  mother  came  in  with  Maria  and  Natalia.  But  the 
tone  in  which  Juliana  had  pronounced  those  few  words 
sufficed  to  convince  me  that  she  suspected  nothing  of  the 
truth.  Perhaps  she  supposed  that  my  sorrow  arose  from  a 
sombre  recollection  of  my  ineffaceable  and  inexpiable 
past,  or  supposed  that  I  was  tortured  by  remorse  for  having 
done  her  so  much  wrong  and  by  the  fear  of  not  deserving 
her  full  pardon. 

The  following  morning,  I  was  again  much  agitated.      In 
obedience  to  her  wish  I  was  waiting  in  an  adjoining  room, 
when  I  heard  her  call  me  in  her  limpid  tones ; 
3 


34  THE    INTRUDER. 

"Come  here,  Tullio  !  " 

I  entered.  She  was  standing  up,  and  seemed  taller, 
more  svelte,  more  fragile.  Robed  in  a  sort  of  ample  and 
wavy  tunic,  with  long  straight  folds,  she  smiled,  hesitating, 
scarcely  able  to  stand,  with  her  arms  stretched  out  as  if  to 
maintain  her  equilibrium,  turning  by  turns  toward  me  and 
my  mother. 

My  mother  looked  at  her  with  an  inexpressible  expression 
of  tenderness,  ready  to  give  her  support.  I,  too,  stretched 
out  my  hands,  ready  to  support  her. 

"  No,  no,  please,"  she  said;  "  let  me  be,  let  me  be.  I 
am  strong.  I  want  to  walk  all  alone  as  far  as  the  arm- 
chair." 

She  advanced  one  foot,  and  made  a  step  slowly.  Her 
face  lit  up  with  an  infantile  joy. 

"Take  care,  Juliana!" 

She  made  two  or  three  steps  more ;  then,  seized  by  a 
sudden  fear,  a  foolish  dread  that  she  was  about  to  fall,  she 
hesitated  for  an  instant  between  my  mother  and  me,  and 
ended  by  throwing  herself  in  my  arms,  on  my  breast,  a 
dead  weight,  and  trembling  as  if  she  were  sobbing.  On 
the  contrary,  she  was  laughing,  a  little  oppressed  by  her 
nervousness;  and,  as  she  wore  no  corset,  my  hands  felt 
through  the  dress  how  meagre  and  frail  she  was,  my  breast 
felt  each  motion  of  the  palpitating  and  sickly  form,  my 
nostrils  respired  the  perfume  of  her  hair,  my  eyes  recog- 
nized the  little  brown  mole  upon  her  neck. 

"  I  was  afraid,"  she  said  in  a  gasp,  laughing  and  panting; 
"  I  was  afraid  I  should  fall.*' 

And  as  she  threw  back  her  head  without  detaching  herself 
from  me  so  as  to  look  at  my  mother,  I  caught  a  slight  view 
of  her  bloodless  gums,  the  whites  of  her  eyes,  and  the 
convulsed  appearance  of  her  entire  face.  I  felt  as  though 


THE    INTRUDER.  35 

I  were  holding  in  my  arms  a  poor,  ill  creature,  profoundly 
afflicted  by  her  malady,  with  debilitated  nerves,  impover- 
ished veins,  and  perhaps  incurable.  But  I  thought  again 
also  of  her  transfiguration,  of  the  evening  of  the  unexpected 
kiss;  and  the  labor  of  charity,  of  love,  and  of  reform 
which  I  was  renouncing  once  more  seemed  to  me  a  labor 
of  sovereign  beauty. 

"  Tullio,  lead  me  to  the  arm-chair,"  she  said. 

Supporting  her  with  my  arm  passed  around  her  waist, 
I  led  her  slowly  and  gently;  I  helped  her  to  sit  in  it;  I 
arranged  the  down  cushions  at  her  back,  and  I  remember  that 
I  chose  the  cushion  having  the  most  exquisite  shade  for  her 
to  lean  her  head  upon.  Then,  in  order  to  slip  one  beneath 
her  feet,  I  went  down  on  my  knees,  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  gray  stocking,  and  her  little  slipper  that  hid  only  the 
tip  of  her  foot.  As  on  that  evening,  she  followed  all  my 
movements  with  affectionate  interest.  I  took  a  long  time 
to  do  everything.  I  went  up  to  a  small  tea-table,  placed  on 
it  a  vase  of  fresh  flowers,  a  book,  and  an  ivory  paper-cutter. 
Without  having  premeditated  it,  I  put  into  these  attentions 
a  shade  of  affectation. 

The  ironical  voice  went  on  :  "  Very  clever,  very  clever  ! 
Acting  like  this  before  your  mother  will  help  you  consider- 
ably. How  could  she  suspect  anything  after  being  a  wit- 
ness of  such  an  exhibition  of  tenderness  ?  Besides,  the 
shade  of  affectation  won't  be  noticed;  the  poor  woman  is 
a  little  short-sighted.  Go  on,  go  on.  Everything  is  pro- 
gressing famously.  Keep  it  up  !  " 

"  Oh,  how  nice  it  is  here  !  "  exclaimed  Juliana,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  half -closing  her  eyes.  "  Thank  you, 
Tullio!" 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  my  mother  had  gone  out  and  we 
were  alone,  she  repeated,  in  a  deeper  tone  :  "  Thank  you  1  M 


36  THE    INTRUDER. 

She  raised  a  hand  towards  me  so  that  I  might  take  it  in 
mine.  As  her  sleeve  was  large,  the  gesture  exposed  the 
arm  almost  as  far  as  the  elbow.  And  that  white  and  faith- 
ful hand,  which  offered  me  love,  indulgence,  peace,  dream- 
land, oblivion,  all  that  is  beautiful  and  all  that  is  good, 
trembled  in  the  air  a  second,  stretched  towards  me  as  if 
making  the  supreme  offering. 

I  believe  that  at  the  hour  of  death,  at  the  precise  instant 
when  my  sufferings  come  to  an  end,  it  will  be  that  gesture, 
only  that  one,  that  I  shall  see;  amid  all  the  numberless 
images  of  my  past  life,  I  shall  see  only  that  one  gesture. 

When  I  look  back  I  do  not  succeed  in  reconstructing 
with  exactitude  the  state  of  soul  in  which  I  found  myself. 
What  I  can  affirm  is,  that  again  at  that  moment  I  understood 
the  extreme  gravity  of  the  situation,  and  the  prime  impor- 
tance of  the  acts  that  were  being  accomplished,  or  that 
were  about  to  be  accomplished.  I  had,  or  I  believed  I 
had,  perfect  lucidity.  Two  phenomena  of  my  conscience 
were  developing  without  becoming  confounded,  perfectly 
distinct,  parallel.  In  one  of  them  predominated,  joined 
to  pity  for  the  poor  creature  whom  I  was  on  the  point 
of  striking,  a  bitter  sentiment  of  regret  for  the  offering 
that  I  was  about  to  reject.  In  the  other  predominated, 
joined  to  the  deep,  eager  desire  for  the  absent  mistress,  an 
egotistical  sentiment  that  busied  itself  in  coldly  examining 
the  circumstances  most  suitable  for  favoring  my  impunity. 
This  parallelism  gave  to  my  inner  life  an  incredible  inten- 
sity and  acceleration. 

The  decisive  hour  had  come.  Having  to  start  the  follow- 
ing morning,  I  could  not  temporize  any  longer.  So  that 
the  affair  should  not  seem  too  ambiguous  and  altogether 
too  sudden,  I  must  prepare  my  mother  for  my  departure 
that  very  morning  at  breakfast,  and  allege  some  plausible 


THE    INTRUDER.  37 

pretext.  I  must  also  tell  Juliana,  before  telling  my  mother, 
so  as  to  prevent  any  possible  contretemps.  "  And  suppose 
Juliana  should  rebel  ?  Suppose,  in  a  moment  of  grief 
and  indignation,  she  reveals  the  truth  to  my  mother  ? 
How  can  I  obtain  from  her  a  promise  of  silence,  a  new  act 
of  abnegation?"  Up  to  the  last  moment  I  argued  with 
myself.  "  Will  she  understand  immediately,  at  the  first 
word  ?  And  if  she  should  not  understand  ?  If  she  should 
innocently  ask  me  the  object  of  my  journey  ?  What  could 
I  answer  ?  But  she  will  understand.  It  is  impossible  that 
she  has  not  already  learned  from  one  of  her  friends, 
from  Signora  Talice,  for  instance,  that  Teresa  Raffo  has  left 
Rome." 

My  strength  began  to  give  way.  I  could  not  have  borne 
much  longer  the  crisis  that  became  more  acute  each  mo- 
ment. With  a  contraction  of  all  my  nerves,  I  came  to  a 
decision;  and  since  she  was  speaking,  1  determined  that 
she  herself  should  furnish  me  the  opportunity  for  deliver- 
ing the  blow. 

She  spoke  of  a  thousand  things,  and  especially  of  the 
future,  with  unaccustomed  volubility.  That  strange,  con- 
vulsed appearance  that  I  had  already  noticed  in  her 
seemed  more  apparent.  I  was  still  standing  behind 
her  chair;  up  to  then  I  had  avoided  her  eyes  by  adroit 
manoeuvring  in  the  room,  remaining  attentive  behind  her 
chair,  busy  either  in  arranging  the  window  curtains  or 
straightening  the  books  in  the  little  bookcase,  or  in  pick- 
ing up  from  the  carpet  the  petals  of  a  bouquet  of  roses 
that  had  shed  its  leaves.  Standing  up,  I  looked  at  the 
parting  in  her  hair,  her  long  and  curved  eyelashes,  the  light 
palpitation  of  her  bosom,  and  her  hands,  her  beautiful 
hands  extended  on  the  arms  of  the  arm-chair,  lying  flat, 
just  as  on  that  day,  white  as  on  that  day,  "  when  they  could 


38  THE    INTRUDER. 

be  distinguished  from  the  linen  only  by  the  azure  of  their 
veins." 

Oh,  that  day  !  Not  more  than  a  week  had  gone  by  since 
then.  Why  did  it  seem  to  me  to  be  so  far  away  ? 

Standing  behind  her,  in  that  state  of  extreme  tension, 
and,  so  to  speak,  on  the  watch,  I  imagined  that  perhaps 
she  instinctively  felt  the  danger  hovering  over  her  head  :  I 
believed  I  divined  in  her  a  sort  of  vague  uneasiness.  Once 
more  I  felt  sick  at  heart. 

She  finally  said : 

"  To-morrow,  if  I  am  better,  you  will  take  me  out  on  the 
terrace,  in  the  open  air." 

I  interrupted  her. 

"  To-morrow  y  I  shall  not  be  here.'1 

She  trembled  at  my  strange  voice.  I  added,  without  wait- 
ing: 

11 1  am  going     .     .     ." 

Then,  making  a  violent  effort  to  loosen  my  tongue,  and 
terrified  like  a  man  who  must  strike  a  second  blow  to  put 
his  victim  to  death,  I  added  hastily : 

"  I  am  going  to  Florence." 

"Ah!" 

She  had  suddenly  understood.  She  turned  round  with  a 
rapid  movement,  she  twisted  herself  on  her  cushions,  to 
look  me  in  the  face ;  and  in  that  tragic  pose,  I  saw  again 
the  whites  of  her  eyes  and  her  bloodless  gum. 

"Juliana!"  I  stammered,  without  finding  anything 
else  to  say  to  her,  bending  toward  her,  fearing  she  would 
faint. 

But  she  lowered  her  eyelids,  sank  back,  withdrew  into 
herself,  so  to  speak,  as  if  chilled  by  severe  cold.  She  re- 
mained thus  for  several  minutes,  her  eyes  closed,  lips  com- 
pressed, motionless.  Only  the  pulsations  of  the  carotid 


THE    INTRUDER.  39 

artery,  visible  at  the  neck,  and  a  few  convulsive  contrac- 
tions of  her  hands  indicated  that  she  was  still  alive. 

Was  not  this  a  crime  ?  Yes,  this  was  the  first  of  my 
crimes,  and  not  the  least,  without  a  doubt. 

I  went  away  under  terrible  circumstances.  My  absence 
lasted  more  than  a  week.  On  my  return  and  the  days  fol- 
lowing, I  was  astonished  myself  at  my  almost  cynical  impu- 
dence. I  was  bewitched  by  a  sort  of  malefice  that  sus- 
pended in  me  every  moral  sense  and  rendered  me  capable 
of  the  worst  injustices,  the  worst  cruelties.  This  time 
again  Juliana  exhibited  prodigious  force  of  character;  this 
time  again  she  was  able  to  keep  silent.  She  appeared 
to  me  wrapped  up  in  her  silence  as  if  in  an  impenetrable 
adamantine  wall. 

She  went  to  the  Badiola  with  her  daughters  and  my 
mother.  My  brother  accompanied  them.  I  remained  in 
Rome. 

It  was  then  that  began  for  me  a  frightful  period  of  som- 
bre misery,  the  recollection  of  which  suffices  to  fill  me 
with  disgust  and  humiliation. 

Harassed  by  a  feeling  that,  more  than  any  other,  stirs  up 
in  man  the  dregs  of  his  being,  I  suffered  every  torture 
that  a  woman  can  make  a  feeble,  passionate,  and  ever-wake- 
ful soul  suffer.  The  fire  of  a  terrible  sensual  jealousy, 
kindled  by  suspicion,  dried  up  in  me  every  honest  source, 
fed  on  the  dregs  deposited  in  the  baser  depths  of  my  ani- 
mal nature. 

Never  had  Teresa  Raffo  seemed  to  me  to  be  so  desira- 
ble as  since  the  day  when  I  indissolubly  associated  her  with 
an  ignoble  image  and  a  stain.  And  she  made  herself  a 
weapon  of  my  very  contempt  to  excite  my  covetousness. 
Atrocious  agonies,  abject  joys,  dishonoring  submission,  cow- 
ardly complacencies  proposed  and  unblushingly  accepted, 


4O  THE    INTRUDER. 

tears  more  acrid  than  all  the  poisons,  sudden  frenzies  that 
drove  me  almost  to  the  confines  of  dementia,  such  violent 
plunges  into  the  abyss  of  indulgence  that  for  many  days 
after  I  lay  in  a  stupefied  state,  every  misery,  every  ignominy 
of  the  lower  passions  exasperated  by  jealousy — all,  yes,  I 
have  known  all.  I  became  a  stranger  in  my  own  house ; 
the  presence  of  Juliana  became  an  encumbrance  to  me. 
Sometimes  entire  weeks  passed  without  my  addressing  a  sin- 
gle word  to  her ;  absorbed  in  my  inner  torture,  I  did  not  see 
her,  I  did  not  listen  to  her.  At  certain  moments,  when  I 
raised  my  eyes  towards  her,  I  was  surprised  at  her  pallor,  at 
the  expression  of  her  face,  by  such  and  such  a  detail  of 
her  features,  as  if  these  things  were  new,  unexpected, 
strange;  I  did  not  succeed  in  entirely  reconquering  the 
notion  of  the  reality.  Every  act  of  her  life  was  unknown 
to  me;  I  felt  no  desire  to  question  her,  to  know  anything; 
I  felt  neither  preoccupation,  interest,  nor  fear  in  regard  to 
her.  An  inexplicable  coldness  acted  as  a  cuirass  against 
her.  And  still  more :  sometimes  I  felt  a  kind  of  vague 
and  inexplicable  rancor  against  her.  One  day  I  saw  her 
laugh,  and  that  laugh  irritated  me,  almost  put  me  in  a 
passion. 

Another  day  I  had  a  shock  on  hearing  her  singing  in  a 
distant  room.  She  was  singing  an  air  from  "  Orphe'e." 

"  Que  ferai-je  sans  Eurydice  ?  ' ' 

That  was  the  first  time  she  had  sung  while  going  through 
the  house  for  a  long  time ;  it  was  the  first  time  I  heard  her 
for  a  long  time. 

"  Why  was  she  singing  ?  Was  she  then  happy  ?  To 
what  condition  of  her  soul  does  that  unusual  effusion  cor- 
respond ?"  An  inexplicable  agitation  seized  me.  Without 
thinking,  I  went  up  to  her,  calling  her  by  name. 

When  she  saw  me  enter  her  room  she  was  surprised,  and 


THE    INTRUDER.  41 

remained  for  a  moment  speechless;  she  was  evidently 
startled. 

"Are  you  singing?"  I  said,  so  as  to  say  something, 
embarrassed  and  astonished  myself  at  the  eccentricity  of 
what  I  was  doing. 

She  smiled  a  hesitating  smile,  not  knowing  what  to 
answer,  not  knowing  what  attitude  to  assume  toward  me. 
And  I  thought  I  read  in  her  eyes  a  grieved  curiosity,  the 
fugitive  expression  of  which  I  had  already  noticed  more 
than  once — the  compassionate  curiosity  with  which  one 
gazes  at  a  person  suspected  of  insanity,  a  maniac.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  saw  myself  in  a  mirror  opposite,  and  my 
face  looked  emaciated,  my  eyes  sunken,  my  mouth  puffed  up 
— that  feverish  appearance  that  I  had  had  for  a  month. 

"  Are  you  dressing  to  go  out  ?  "  I  asked,  still  disturbed, 
almost  ashamed,  not  rinding  any  other  question  to  ask  her, 
preoccupied  only  with  avoiding  silence. 

"Yes." 

It  was  in  the  morning,  in  November.  She  was  standing 
near  a  table  trimmed  with  lace,  and  on  which  scintillated 
the  scattered  innumerable  little  articles  that  serve  nowa- 
days to  beautify  women.  She  wore  a  dress  of  vigonia,  of  a 
dark  color,  and  held  in  her  hand  a  light-colored  shell 
comb  mounted  in  silver.  The  dress,  very  simple  in  cut, 
set  off  her  slim,  graceful  figure.  A  large  bouquet  of  white 
chrysanthemums,  placed  on  the  table,  reached  up  as  far  as 
her  shoulder.  The  sun  of  the  St.  Martin's  summer  entered 
through  the  window,  and  in  the  air  there  was  a  perfume  of 
chypre,  or  some  other  odor  I  could  not  recognize. 

"  What  perfume  do  you  use  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Crab-apple,"  she  replied. 

"I  like  it,"  I  said. 

She  took  a  small  bottle  from  the  table,  and  handed  it  to 


42  THE    INTRUDER. 

me.  I  inhaled  it  deeply,  so  as  to  be  doing  something, 
and  to  gain  time  to  prepare  some  other  phrase.  I  did  not 
succeed  in  dissipating  my  confusion,  or  in  recovering  my 
assurance.  I  felt  that  all  intimacy  between  us  was  at  an 
end. "  She  seemed  to  me  to  be  another  woman.  And  yet 
the  air  from  "  Orphee  "  still  surged  through  my  soul,  still 
disturbed  me : 

' '  Que  ferai-je  sans  Eurydice  ?  ' ' 

In  that  warm  and  golden  light,  amidst  that  delightful  per- 
fume, among  these  objects  impressed  with  feminine  grace, 
the  echo  of  the  ancient  melody  seemed  to  put  the  palpitation 
of  a  secret  life,  to  shed  a  shadow  of  some  strange  mystery. 

"The  air  that  you  sang  just  now  is  very  beautiful,"  I 
said,  obeying  an  impulse  that  came  from  my  uneasiness. 

"  Yes,  very  beautiful,"  she  cried. 

A  question  rose  to  my  lips  :  "  Why  are  you  singing  ?  "  but 
I  repressed  it  and  began  to  seek  in  myself  the  reasons  of 
the  curiosity  which  tormented  me. 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence.  She  ran  her  finger-nail 
across  the  teeth  of  the  comb,  producing  a  light,  grating 
noise.  This  grating  is  a  circumstance  that  I  recall  with 
perfect  clearness. 

"  You  were  dressing  to  go  out.     Go  on,"  I  said. 

"  I  have  only  to  put  on  my  jacket  and  hat.  What  time 
is  it  ?" 

"  A  quarter  to  eleven." 

"  What!     So  late  already  ?" 

She  took  her  hat  and  veil,  and  sat  down  before  the  glass. 
I  watched  her.  Another  question  rose  to  my  lips  :  "  Where 
are  you  going  ?  "  Yet,  although  it  might  appear  quite  natu- 
ral, I  restrained  myself  again,  and  continued  to  observe 
Juliana  attentively. 

She  reappeared  to  me  once  more  what  she  was  in  reality 


THE    INTRUDER.  43 

— a  young  and  stylish  woman,  a  gentle  and  noble  face  full 
of  a  refined  physical  delicacy,  radiant  with  an  intense 
moral  expression ;  in  short,  an  adorable  woman,  and  one 
who  could  be  as  delightful  a  mistress  for  the  flesh  as  for 
the  mind.  "  Suppose  she  were  really  someone's  mistress  ?  " 
I  thought  then.  "  Assuredly,  it  is  impossible  but  that  many 
men  have  hovered  around  her;  everyone  knows  how  I 
neglect  her,  everyone  knows  how  I  wrong  her.  Suppose  she 
has  yielded,  or  is  about  to  yield  ?  Suppose  she  has  at  last 
considered  the  sacrifice  of  her  youth  to  be  useless  and  unjust? 
Suppose  she  was  at  last  grown  tired  of  her  abnegation? 
Suppose  she  has  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  man  superior 
to  me,  some  delicate  and  deep  seducer,  who  has  inspired 
her  with  renewed  curiosity,  who  has  taught  her  to  forget 
her  faithless  husband  ?  Suppose  I  have  already  lost  her 
heart,  which  I  have  so  often  trampled  upon  without  pity 
and  without  remorse  ?"  A  sudden  fright  seized  me,  and 
the  anguish  was  so  keen  that  I  thought:  "That  is  what  I 
will  do;  I  will  confess  my  suspicion  to  Juliana.  I  will 
look  into  the  depths  of  her  eyes  and  say,  '  Are  you  still 
faithful?'  And  I  will  know  the  truth.  She  is  incapable 
of  lying." 

"Incapable  of  lying?  Ah!  ah !  ah !  A  woman! 
.  .  .  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  A  woman  is  capable 
of  everything.  Never  forget  that.  Sometimes  the  large 
cloak  of  heroism  serves  but  to  hide  half  a  dozen  lovers. 
Sacrifice  !  Abnegation  !  Those  are  appearances,  words. 
Who  will  ever  know  the  truth  ?  Swear,  if  you  dare,  that 
your  wife  is  faithful  to  you ;  and  I  speak,  not  of  the  present 
faithfulness,  but  of  that  which  preceded  the  episode  of  the 
illness.  Swear  in  perfect  assurance,  if  you  dare."  And 
the  wicked  voice  (ah  !  Teresa  Raifo,  how  your  poison  acts), 
the  perfidious  voice  made  me  shudder. 


44  THE    INTRUDER. 

"Do  not  be  impatient,  Tullio,"  said  Juliana,  almost 
timidly.  "  Will  you  stick  this  pin  in  my  veil — here  ?  " 

She  raised  her  arms  and  held  them  over  her  head  to 
fasten  the  veil,  and  her  white  fingers  tried  in  vain  to  fas- 
ten it. 

Her  pose  was  full  of  grace.  The  white  fingers  made  me 
think  :  "  How  long  it  is  since  we  clasped  hands  !  Oh,  the 
frank  and  warm  clasps  that  her  hand  used  to  give  me,  as  if 
to  assure  me  that  she  bore  me  no  ill-will  for  any  offence  ! 
Now  that  hand  is  perhaps  defiled."  And  while  I  fastened 
the  veil,  I  felt  a  sudden  revulsion  in  thinking  of  the  possi- 
ble pollution. 

She  arose,  and  I  helped  her  again  to  put  on  her  cloak. 
Two  or  three  times  our  eyes  met  by  stealth,  and  again  I 
observed  in  hers  a  sort  of  anxious  curiosity.  Perhaps  she 
was  asking  herself  :  "  Why  did  he  come  in  here  ?  Why  is 
he  staying  here  ?  What  does  that  absent-minded  air  mean  ? 
What  does  he  want  with  me  ?  What  has  happened  to 
him?" 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,"  she  said. 

And  she  left  the  room. 

I  heard  her  call  Miss  Edith,  the  governess. 

When  I  was  alone  my  eyes  turned  involuntarily  towards 
the  small  desk  littered  with  letters,  cards,  and  books.  I 
approached,  and  my  eyes  ran  for  an  instant  over  the  papers, 
as  if  they  sought  to  discover — what  ?  The  proof,  per- 
haps ?  I  dismissed  this  base  and  stupid  suspicion.  I 
looked  at  a  book  covered  with  an  antique  cloth,  with  a 
small  dagger  stuck  between  the  leaves.  She  had  not  yet 
finished  reading  it,  and  had  cut  only  about  half  of  it.  It 
was  the  latest  novel  by  Filippo  Arborio,  The  Secret.  I 
read  on  the  frontispiece  an  autographic  dedication  by  the 
author : 


THE   INTRUDER.  45 

TO   YOU, 

JULIANA  HERMIL,  TURRIS  EBURNEA, 
I  offer  this  unworthy  homage. 

F.  ARBORIO. 
All  Saints'  Day,  '85. 

So  Juliana  knew  the  novelist  ?  And  what  did  Juliana  think 
of  him  ?  I  conjured  up  the  writer's  fine  and  seductive  face 
as  I  had  seen  it  several  times  in  public.  There  was  cer- 
tainly much  in  him  that  must  please  Juliana.  According  to 
current  gossip,  he  pleased  women.  His  romances,  full  of 
a  complicated  psychology,  at  times  very  subtle,  often  false, 
disturbed  sentimental  souls,  fired  restless  imaginations, 
taught  with  supreme  grace  contempt  of  common  life.  An 
•Agony,  The  True  Catholic,  Angelica  Doni,  Giorgio  Aliora, 
The  Secret,  suggested  an  intense  vision  of  life,  as  if  life 
were  a  vast  conflagration  of  innumerable  ardent  figures. 
Each  of  his  characters  fought  for  his  chimera,  in  a  hopeless 
duel  against  reality. 

Had  not  this  extraordinary  artist,  who  in  his  books 
appeared  to  be,  so  to  speak,  like  a  distilled  quintessence  of 
pure  spirit,  also  exerted  his  fascination  on  me  ?  Had  I 
not  said  of  his  Giorgio  Aliora  that  it  was  a  fraternal 
work  ?  Had  I  not  found  in  certain  of  his  literary  crea- 
tions strange  resemblances  with  my  inner  being  ?  And 
suppose  the  strange  affinity  that  there  is  between  us  facili- 
tated his  work  of  seduction,  perhaps  already  undertaken  ? 
Suppose  Juliana  was  yielding  to  him,  precisely  because  she 
had  recognized  in  him  some  one  of  those  attractions  by 
which,  previously,  I  had  made  myself  adored  by  her  ?  I 
thought  with  a  new  fright. 

She  reentered  the  room.     On  seeing  me  with  the  book 
in   my  hand,   she  said,   with  an  embarrassed   smile, 
blushing  slightly : 


46  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  Filippo  Arborio  ?  "  I  asked  her  immedi- 
ately, but  without  any  change  in  my  voice,  in  the  most  calm 
and  natural  voice  that  I  could  command. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  frankly.  "  He  was  introduced  to 
me  at  the  Monterisi.  He  has  even  been  here  several 
times,  but  you  have  not  had  the  opportunity  of  meeting 
him." 

A  question  rose  to  my  lips :  "  Why  have  you  never 
spoken  of  him  to  me  ?  "  But  I  restrained  it.  How  could 
she  have  mentioned  it,  since,  by  my  attitude,  I  had  inter- 
rupted for  a  long  time  past  all  friendly  exchange  of  news 
and  confidences  ? 

"  He  is  much  more  simple  than  his  works  would  lead  one 
to  suppose,"  she  continued  carelessly,  slowly  drawing  on 
her  gloves.  "  Have  you  read  The  Secret?" 

"Yes,  I  have  read  it." 

"Did  you  like  it?" 

Without  thinking,  and  by  an  instinctive  desire  to  affirm 
my  superiority  in  Juliana's  eyes,  I  answered  : 

"  No,  it  is  commonplace." 

At  last  she  said : 

"  I  am  going." 

She  made  a  motion  to  leave.  I  followed  her  as  far  as 
the  antechamber,  walking  in  the  wake  of  the  perfume  she 
left  behind  her,  so  subtle  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible.  In 
the  presence  of  the  servant  she  said  only : 

"  Au  revoir." 

And,  with  a  light  step,  she  crossed  the  threshold. 

I  went  back  to  my  room.  I  opened  the  window,  and  leaned 
out  to  watch  her  in  the  street. 

She  hurried  along,  with  her  light  step,  on  the  sunny  side  of 
the  street,  straight  on,  without  turning  her  head  to  the  right 


THE    INTRUDER.  47 

or  left.  The  St.  Martin  summer  shed  a  delicate  gilding 
over  the  crystal  of  the  sky ;  a  calm  warmth  softened  the  air 
and  conjured  up  the  perfume  of  the  absent  violets.  An 
immense  sadness  weighed  on  me,  crushed  me  down  on  the 
window-sill ;  gradually  it  became  intolerable. 

Rarely  in  my  life  have  I  suffered  so  much  as  from  that 
doubt  which  crumbled  at  one  stroke  my  faitn  in  Juliana,  a 
faith  that  had  lasted  for  so  many  years.  Rarely  had  the 
flight  of  an  illusion  drawn  from  my  soul  such  cries  of 
anguish.  But  was  it  true  that  the  illusion  had  fled  and  that 
the  evil  was  irremediable  ?  I  could  not,  I  would  not,  be 
persuaded  of  it. 

That  great  illusion  had  been  the  companion  of  my  whole 
misguided  life.  It  answered  not  only  to  the  exigencies  of 
my  egotism,  but  also  to  my  aesthetic  dream  of  moral  great- 
ness. 

"  Since  moral  greatness  results  from  the  violence  of 
pains  which  one  triumphs  over,  it  is  necessary,  so  that  she 
may  have  an  opportunity  to  be  heroic,  that  she  should  suffer 
all  I  have  made  her  suffer."  This  axiom,  which  had  often 
succeeded  in  calming  my  remorse,  was  deeply  rooted  in  my 
mind,  and  had  caused  to  surge  there  from  the  best  part  of 
myself  an  ideal  phantom  to  which  I  had  vowed  a  sort  of 
platonic  cult.  Debauched,  culpable,  tired,  I  took  pleasure 
in  recognizing  in  the  ray  of  my  own  existence  a  soul 
severe,  upright,  and  strong,  an  incorruptible  soul,  and  it 
pleased  me  to  be  the  object  of  its  love,  of  an  eternal 
love.  All  my  vice,  all  my  misery,  all  my  feebleness, 
found  a  support  in  this  illusion.  I  believed  that  for  me 
there  was  a  possible  realization  of  the  dream  of  all  intel- 
lectual men :  to  be  constantly  unfaithful  to  a  constantly 
faithful  woman. 

"  What  are  you  seeking  ?     All  the  intoxication  of  life  ? 


48  THE   INTRUDER. 

Very  well  !  goj  run  on,  intoxicate  yourself.  In  your 
house  a  dumb  creature  remembers  and  waits,  like  a  veiled 
image  in  a  sanctuary.  The  lamp  in  which  you  do  not  put 
a  single  drop  more  of  oil  burns  without  ever  becoming 
extinguished.  Is  not  that  the  dream  of  all  intellectual 
men?" 

And  again:  "No  matter  at  what  hour,  no  matter  after 
what  adventure,  you  will  find  her  there  on  your  return. 
She  was  awaiting  your  return  with  confidence,  but  she  will 
not  tell  you  of  her  waiting.  You  will  rest  your  head  on 
her  knees  and  she  will  caress  your  temples  with  her  finger- 
tips, to  take  away  your  pain." 

I  had  a  presentiment  that  one  day  I  would  return  thus;  I 
would  end  by  coming  back,  after  one  of  those  intimate  catas- 
trophes that  metamorphose  a  man.  All  my  hopelessnesses 
were  softened  by  the  secret  conviction  that  this  refuge  could 
not  fail  me,  and  in  the  depth  of  my  abjectness  a  little 
light  came  to  me  from  that  woman  who,  for  love  of  me 
and  by  my  work,  had  raised  herself  to  the  summit  of  great- 
ness and  had  perfectly  realized  the  form  of  my  ideal. 

Would  one  doubt  suffice  to  destroy  all  that  in  a  moment  ? 

I  repassed  from  one  end  to  the  other  the  scene  that  had 
taken  place  between  Juliana  and  myself  from  the  moment 
I  had  entered  the  room  to  the  instant  she  had  left  it.  And 
it  was  in  vain  I  attributed  a  great  part  of  my  inner  agita- 
tion to  a  special  and  transient  nervous  condition ;  I  could 
not  succeed  in  dissipating  the  strange  impression  exactly 
transited  by  these  words  : 

"  She  seemed  to  me  to  be  another  woman" 

There  was  certainly  something  new  about  her.  But 
what  ?  Was  not  Filippo  Arborio's  dedication  in  a  sense 
reassuring  ?  Did  it  not  precisely  affirm  that  the  Turris 
Eburnea  was  impregnable  ?  This  glorious  qualification  had 


THE    INTRUDER.  49 

been  suggested  to  the  author  either  simply  by  the  reputation 
for  purity  that  Juliana  Hermil's  name  bore,  or  by  the  non- 
success  of  an  attempted  assault,  or,  possibly,  by  the  aban- 
donment of  a  siege  undertaken.  In  consequence,  the  Ivory 
Tower  still  remained  unsullied. 

While  reasoning  thus  to  allay  the  gnavvings  of  suspicion, 
I  could  not  remove  the  confused  anxiety  that  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  my  being,  as  if  I  feared  a  sudden  apparition  of 
some  ironical  objection.  "  You  know,  Juliana  has  extraor- 
dinarily white  skin.  She  is  literally  as  white  as  her  night- 
dress. The  pious  qualification  might  well  hide  some  profane 
meaning."  But  the  word  unworthy  ?  "  Oh  !  Oh  !  What 
subtleties!  " 

An  attack  of  impatience  and  anger  cut  short  this  humili- 
ating and  vain  debate.  I  withdrew  from  the  window, 
shrugged  my  shoulders,  made  two  or  three  turns  in  the  room, 
mechanically  opened  a  book,  then  threw  it  down  again. 
But  my  anguish  did  not  decrease.  "  In  short,"  I  thought, 
stopping  short,  as  if  to  confront  some  invisible  adversary, 
"  to  what  does  all  this  lead  me  ?  Either  she  has  already 
fallen,  and  the  loss  is  irreparable;  or  she  is  in  danger,  and 
in  my  present  situation  I  cannot  interfere  to  save  her ;  or 
else  she  is  pure,  and  then  there  is  no  change.  In  any  case, 
it  is  not  for  me  to  act.  What  exists,  exists  of  necessity ; 
what  is  to  happen,  will  of  necessity  happen.  This  crisis  of 
suffering  will  pass.  One  must  wait.  How  beautiful  those 
white  chrysanthemums  were  that  were  on  Juliana's  table  just 
now  !  I  will  go  and  buy  a  heap  more  just  like  them.  My 
rendezvous  with  Teresa  is  for  two  o'clock  to-day.  I  have 
still  almost  three  hours  before  me.  Did  she  not  tell  me,  the 
last  time,  that  she  wished  to  find  the  fire  burning  ?  This 
will  be  the  first  fire  of  the  winter  on  such  a  warm  day.  It 
seems  to  me  she  is  in  a  week  of  kindness.  I  only  hope 


50  THE    INTRUDER. 

it  will  last !  But,  at  the  first  opportunity,  I  shall  challenge 
Eugenic  Egano." 

My  thoughts  followed  a  new  course,  with  sudden  checks, 
with  unforeseen  divergences.  In  the  midst  even  of  the 
pictures  of  the  approaching  voluptuousness,  another  con- 
taminating imagination  passed  like  a  lightning  flash,  one 
that  I  feared,  one  from  which  I  should  like  to  flee.  Cer- 
tain audacious  and  ardent  pages  of  The  True  Catholic 
recurred  to  me.  One  of  these  passions  aroused  the  other, 
and,  while  suffering  from  the  distinct  pains,  I  confounded 
the  two  women  in  the  same  pollution,  Filippo  Arborio  and 
Eugenio  Egano  in  the  same  hate. 

The  crisis  passed,  leaving  in  my  soul  a  species  of  vague 
contempt  mixed  with  rancor  against  the  sister.  I  drifted 
away  still  further  from  her;  I  became  more  and  more  hard- 
ened, more  and  more  careless,  more  and  more  reserved. 
My  sad  passion  for  Teresa  Raffo  became  more  exclusive, 
occupied  all  my  faculties,  left  me  no  respite.  I  was  really 
a  maniac,  a  man  possessed  by  a  diabolical  insanity,  devoured 
by  an  unknown  and  frightful  malady.  My  mind  has  retained 
of  that  winter  only  confused,  incoherent  souvenirs,  inter- 
spersed with  strange,  rare  obscurities. 

That  winter  I  never  encountered  Filippo  Arborio  at  my 
house ;  but  I  saw  him  sometimes  in  public.  One  evening, 
however,  I  met  him  in  a  salle  d'armes ;  and  there  we 
became  acquainted.  We  were  introduced  by  the  fencing- 
master,  and  we  exchanged  a  few  words.  The  gaslight,  the 
creaking  of  the  flooring,  the  flash  and  clatter  of  the  foils, 
the  clumsy  or  graceful  attitudes  of  the  swordsmen,  the  rapid 
extension  of  all  those  bent  limbs,  the  warm  and  acrid  exhala- 
tions of  all  those  bodies,  the  guttural  cries,  rude  interjec- 
tions, the  bursts  of  laughter— such  are  the  details  that  my 
memory  furnishes  to  reconstruct  with  singular  clearness  the 


THE   INTRUDER.  51 

scene  that  unrolled  itself  before  us,  while  we  were  standing 
face  to  face  and  the  master  pronounced  our  names.  I 
again  see  the  gesture  with  which  Filippo  Arborio,  raising 
his  mask,  displayed  a  heated  face  all  bathed  in  perspiration. 
He  was  panting  with  fatigue,  and  somewhat  convulsed,  like 
a  man  unaccustomed  to  muscular  exercise.  Instinctively  I 
thought  that  he  would  not  be  a  formidable  opponent  in  a 
duel.  I  affected  also  a  certain  haughtiness;  I  especially 
avoided  saying  anything  that  bore  any  reference  to  his 
celebrity  or  to  my  admiration ;  I  assumed  the  attitude  I 
would  have  taken  towards  a  perfect  stranger. 

"So  it  is  for  to-morrow?"  said  the  fencing-master  to 
me,  smiling. 

"Yes,  at  ten  o'clock." 

"  Are  you  going  to  fight  ?  "  asked  Arborio,  with  evident 
curiosity. 

"Yes." 

He  hesitated  a  little,  and  then  added : 

"  May  I  ask  with  whom,  if  it  is  not  an  indiscretion  ?  " 

"With  Eugenio  Egano." 

I  noticed  that  he  would  have  liked  to  learn  more,  but  that 
he  was  restrained  by  the  coldness  of  my  attitude  and  my 
apparent  inattention. 

"  Maestro,"  I  said,  "  I'll  give  you  five  minutes." 

I  turned  my  back  to  go  to  the  dressing-room.  At  the 
door  I  stopped,  and  glancing  back,  saw  that  Arborio  had 
recommenced  to  fence.  One  glance  sufficed  to  show  me 
that  he  was  a  very  poor  swordsman. 

When,  watched  by  all  the  persons  present,  I  engaged  with 
the  fencing-master,  a  singular  nervous  excitement  seized 
upon  me  and  redoubled  my  energy.  I  felt  Arborio's  eyes 
were  fastened  on  me. 

Later  on,  I  saw  him  again  in  the  dressing-room.     The 


52  THE    INTRUDER. 

room  had  a  very  low  ceiling,  and  was  already  full  of  smoke 
and  an  acrid,  sickening  smell  of  men.  All  those  in  it, 
naked  save  for  their  large  white  dressing-gowns,  were  smok- 
ing and  slowly  rubbing  their  chests,  arms,  shoulders,  and 
chaffing  one  another  loudly.  The  splashing  of  the  shower- 
bath  alternated  with  the  loud  laughter.  Two  or  three  times, 
with  an  indefinable  motion  of  repulsion,  with  a  start  similar 
to  that  which  a  violent  physical  shock  would  produce,  I  saw 
the  frail  form  of  Arborio,  whom  my  eyes  sought  involun- 
tarily. And,  once  again,  the  odious  image  was  formed. 

Since  then  I  had  no  other  opportunity  to  approach  or 
meet  him.  I  ceased  to  busy  myself  with  him,  and,  as  a 
consequence,  I  remarked  nothing  suspicious  in  Juliana's 
behavior.  Outside  the  constantly  narrowing  circle  in 
which  I  moved,  there  no  longer  existed  for  me  anything 
lucid,  or  sensible,  or  intelligent.  Every  external  impres- 
sion passed  over  me  like  drops  of  water  over  red-hot  iron, 
rebounding  or  evaporating. 

Events  came  one  after  the  other.  Toward  the  end  of 
February,  after  a  last  proof  of  infamy,  a  definite  rupture 
occurred  between  Teresa  Raffo  and  myself.  I  left  for 
Venice,  alone. 

I  remained  there  about  one  month  in  a  state  of  incom- 
prehensible uneasiness,  in  a  sort  of  stupor  that  made  the 
fogs  seem  thicker  and  the  lagoons  more  silent.  There 
remained  to  me  only  the  innate  sensation  of  my  own  isola- 
tion amidst  the  inert  phantoms  of  all  things.  For  long 
hours,  I  felt  no  other  sensation  than  that  of  the  persistent 
and  crushing  weight  of  life,  and  that  of  the  slight  pulsa- 
tion of  an  artery  in  my  head.  For  long  hours,  I  endured 
that  strange  fascination  exerted  by  the  uninterrupted  and 
monotonous  murmur  of  some  indistinct  thing  on  the  soul. 
It  drizzled;  on  the  water,  the  fog  at  times  took  on  lugu- 


THE    INTRUDER.  53 

brious  forms,  advancing  like  spectres,  with  slow  and  sol- 
emn step.  Often  I  found  a  sort  of  imaginary  death  in  a 
gondola,  as  in  a  coffin.  When  the  rower  asked  where  I 
desired  to  be  taken,  I  almost  always  answered  by  a  vague 
gesture,  and  I  comprehended  internally  the  hopeless  sin- 
cerity of  the  answer:  "  No  matter  where  .  .  .  beyond 
the  world" 

I  came  back  to  Rome  during  the  last  days  of  March.  I 
felt  a  new  sensation  of  the  reality,  as  if  after  a  long  eclipse 
of  conscience.  Sometimes,  unexpectedly,  a  timidity,  an 
uneasiness,  an  unreasoning  fear  seized  me,  and  I  felt  as 
powerless  as  an  infant.  I  looked  about  me  ceaselessly  with 
unusual  attention,  to  grasp  once  more  the  true  sense  of 
things,  to  find  again  the  proper  connections,  to  take  note 
of  what  was  changed  and  what  had  disappeared.  And,  in 
proportion  as  I  slowly  reentered  into  the  ordinary  exist- 
ence, the  equilibrium  reestablished  itself  in  my  being,, 
hope  revived,  and  I  began  to  become  preoccupied  with  the 
future. 

I  found  Juliana's  strength  much  reduced  and  her  health 
very  much  changed.  She  was  sadder  than  ever.  We  spoke 
but  little  and  without  looking  at  one  another,  without  open- 
ing our  hearts.  We  both  sought  the  society  of  our  two 
little  daughters ;  and,  with  their  happy  innocence,  Maria 
and  Natalia  filled  our  long  silences  with  their  fresh  chatter. 
One  day  Maria  asked  : 

"  Mamma,  shall  we  go  this  Easter  to  the  Badiola  ?  " 

I  answered,  without  hesitation,  instead  of  her  mother : 

"Yes,  we  shall." 

Then  Maria  began  to  dance  around  the  room  in  token  of 
her  joy,  dragging  her  sister  with  her.  I  looked  at  Juliana. 

"  Does  it  suit  you  that  we  should  go  there  ?  "  I  asked, 
fearfully,  almost  humbly. 


54  THE    INTRUDER. 

She  consented  by  a  nod. 

"I  see  you  are  not  well,"  I  added,  "nor  am  I  well. 
Perhaps  the  country  .  .  .  the  spring  . 

She  was  stretched  out  in  an  arm-chair,  the  arms  of  which 
supported  her  white  hands,  and  that  attitude  recalled  an- 
other attitude — that  of  the  convalescent  on  the  morning 
when  she  first  rose,  after  I  had  told  her. 

The  departure  was  decided  upon.  We  made  our  prepa- 
rations. A  hope  shone  in  the  depth  of  my  soul,  but  I  dared 
not  look  straight  at  it. 


I. 


MY  first  recollection  is  as  follows : 

By  this,  when  I  began  this  narrative,  I  meant :  "  Among 
my  recollections  this  is  the  first  in  any  way  connected  with 
the  frightful  thing." 

It  was,  therefore,  in  April.  We  had  been  at  the  Badiola 
for  several  days. 

"  Ah  !  my  children,"  my  mother  had  said,  with  her  un- 
ceremonious candor,  "  how  pale  you  both  look  !  Oh  !  that 
Rome,  that  Rome.  To  put  some  color  in  your  cheeks  you 
must  stay  in  the  country  with  me  for  a  long,  long  time." 

"Yes,"  Juliana  had  answered,  with  a  smile;  "yes, 
mother,  we  will  stay  as  long  as  you  wish." 

That  smile  often  appeared  on  Juliana's  lips  when  my 
mother  was  by.  And,  although  her  eyes  invariably  retained 
their  melancholy,  that  smile  was  so  sweet,  so  profoundly 
kind,  that  I  permitted  even  myself  to  be  deceived  by  it.  I 
dared  now  to  entertain  some  hope. 

During  the  first  few  days  my  mother  could  not  tear  her- 
self away  from  her  dear  visitors ;  one  might  have  thought 
she  wished  to  surfeit  them  with  tenderness.  I  saw  her  two 
or  three  times  under  the  influence  of  some  indefinable  emo- 
tion, I  saw  her  caress  Juliana's  hair  with  her  blessed  hand, 
I  heard  her  ask  her : 

"  Is  he  as  kind  to  you  as  ever  ?  " 

"  Yes,  poor  Tullio  !  "  replied  the  other  voice. 

"  So  it  is  not  true  ." 


56  THE    INTRUDER. 

"What?" 

"  I  was  told  that     .     .     .  " 

"  What  were  you  told  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing  ...  I  thought  that  Tullio  had 
caused  you  some  unhappiness." 

They  spoke  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  behind  wav- 
ing curtains,  while  outside  the  wind  sighed  through  the 
elm-trees.  I  came  up  to  them  before  they  were  aware  of 
my  presence,  and  raising  a  portiere,  showed  myself. 

"  Ah  !     Tullio  !  "  cried  my  mother. 

They  exchanged  a  look,  a  little  embarrassed. 

"  We  were  speaking  of  you,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Of  me  ?     Bad  or  good  ?  "  I  asked  lightly. 

"  Good,"  replied  Juliana,  quickly. 

I  detected  in  her  voice  the  evident  intention  to  reassure 
me. 

The  April  sun  shone  on  the  window-sill,  lit  up  my 
mother's  gray  hair,  lightly  touched  Juliana's  temples.  The 
very  white  curtains  were  waving  to  and  fro,  reflected  in 
the  luminous  window-panes.  The  lofty  elms  on  the  lawn, 
covered  with  young  leaves,  produced  a  murmur,  at  times 
loud,  at  times  soft,  on  which  the  shadows,  more  or  less 
stationary,  regulated  their  swing.  From  the  wall  of  the 
house,  covered  with  thousands  of  bunches  of  violets,  arose 
a  paschal  odor,  like  an  invisible  vapor  of  incense. 

"How  penetrating  that  odor  is!"  murmured  Juliana, 
passing  her  hand  over  her  brow  and  half-closing  her  eyes. 
"  It  makes  one  dizzy  !  " 

I  was  between  her  and  my  mother,  a  little  in  the  rear. 
A  desire  seized  me  to  put  my  arms  around  both  and  lean 
out  of  the  window.  In  that  familiar  and  simple  act  I 
wished  to  put  all  the  tenderness  that  swelled  my  heart, 
and  make  Juliana  understand  a  multitude  of  inexpressible 


THE    INTRUDER.  57 

things  and,  by  that  one  gesture,  reconquer  her  entirely. 
But  I  was  restrained  by  an  almost  infantile  feeling  of 
timidity. 

"  Look,  Juliana,"  said  my  mother,  pointing  to  the  top 
of  the  hill,  "  look  at  your  dear  Lilacs.  Can  you  see 
them?" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

And,  shading  her  eyes  from  the  sun  with  her  hand,  she 
made  an  effort  to  see  better.  I,  who  was  watching  her, 
remarked  a  slight  trembling  of  her  lower  lip. 

"Can  you  see  the  cypress?"  I  asked  her,  with  the 
intention  of  increasing  her  agitation  by  this  suggestive 
question. 

And  I  saw  once  more,  in  imagination,  the  venerable  old 
cypress,  whose  trunk  rose  amid  a  rose-bush,  and  whose  top 
sheltered  a  nest  of  nightingales. 

"  Yes,  yes;  I  see  it,  but  with  difficulty." 

The  Lilacs  stood  out  white  against  its  background  of 
foliage  half-way  up  the  slope.  The  chain  of  hills  rolled 
away  in  the  distance  in  a  noble,  peaceful,  undulating  line, 
and  the  olive-tree  plantations  on  their  sides  appeared  of 
extraordinary  lightness,  like  a  kind  of  greenish  fog  piled 
up  in  motionless  shapes.  The  trees  in  blossom,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  bouquets  of  red  and  white,  broke  the 
uniformity.  The  sky  seemed  to  pale  from  minute  to  min- 
ute as  if  a  stream  of  milk  were  being  continually  spread  in 
and  mixed  with  its  fluid  atmosphere. 

"  We  will  go  to  the  Lilacs  after  Easter;  everything  there 
will  be  in  flower,"  I  said,  trying  to  revive  in  that  soul  the 
dream  which  I  had  so  brutally  shattered. 

I  dared  to  draw  closer  to  her,  and  put  my  arms  around 
Juliana  and  my  mother,  and  lean  out  of  the  window,  ad- 
vancing my  head  between  theirs  in  such  a  manner  that  the 


58  THE    INTRUDER. 

hair  of  each  brushed  me.  The  spring,  the  purity  of  the 
air,  the  nobleness  of  the  country,  the  peaceful  transfigura- 
tion of  every  creature  by  the  season's  maternal  influence, 
and  that  sky,  that  sky  of  divine  paleness,  more  divine  in 
measure  as  it  became  paler — all  awoke  in  me  such  a  new 
sentiment  of  life  that  I  thought,  with  an  internal  tremor : 
"  Can  it  be  possible  ?  Can  it  be  possible  ?  After  all 
that  has  happened,  after  all  that  I  have  suffered,  after  so 
many  transgressions,  can  I  still  find  enjoyment  in  life  ? 
Can  I,  then,  still  hope?  Can  I  still  have  a  presentiment 
of  happiness  ?  From  whence  does  this  blessing  come  to 
me  ?  "  It  seemed  to  me  that  all  my  being  was  relieved, 
became  expanded,  became  dilated  beyond  its  limits,  with 
a  subtle,  rapid,  and  continuous  vibration.  Nothing  can 
convey  an  idea  of  the  feeling  developed  in  me  by  the  im- 
perceptible sensation  of  a  hair  grazing  my  cheek. 

We  remained  several  minutes  in  this  attitude,  without 
speaking.  The  elms  moaned.  The  constant  thrill  of  the 
thousands  of  yellow  and  violet  flowers  that  carpeted  the 
wall  beneath  our  window  enchanted  my  eyes.  A  heavy  and 
warm  perfume  arose  in  the  sunshine  with  the  rhythm  of  a 
breath. 

All  at  once  Juliana  drew  back,  and  grew  pale.  Her  eyes 
looked  troubled,  her  mouth  was  contracted  as  if  with  nau- 
sea. She  said : 

"  That  odor  is  terrible.  It  makes  one  giddy.  Are  you 
not  affected  by  it  too,  mother  ?  " 

She  turned  round,  tottered  a  few  steps,  and  left  the  room 
hastily.  My  mother  followed  her. 

I  watched  them  as  they  passed  through  the  corridors, 
still  dominated  by  what  rested  of  my  former  sensations, 
lost  in  the  dream. 


II. 


MY  confidence  in  the  future  increased  from  day  to  day. 
It  was  as  if  I  had  forgotten  everything.  My  soul,  too 
fatigued,  no  longer  remembered  its  sufferings.  At  certain 
periods  of  complete  abandon,  all  became  disintegrated, 
diluted,  dissolved,  lost  in  the  original  fluidity,  became 
unrecognizable.  Then,  after  these  strange  internal  decom- 
positions, it  seemed  to  me  that  a  new  principle  of  life  had 
entered  into  me,  that  a  new  power  had  penetrated  me. 

A  multitude  of  sensations,  involuntary,  spontaneous, 
unconscious,  and  instinctive,  made  up  my  real  existence. 
Between  the  exterior  and  the  interior  there  was  established 
a  play  of  minute  actions  and  instantaneous  minute  reac- 
tions, that  vibrated  in  endless  repercussions,  and  each  one 
of  these  incalculable  repercussions  became  converted  into 
an  astonishing  psychic  phenomenon.  My  entire  being  was 
modified  by  the  slightest  odor  of  the  circumambient  atmos- 
phere, by  a  breath,  by  a  shadow,  by  a  flash  of  light. 

The  great  maladies  of  the  soul,  like  those  of  the  body, 
renew  a  man,  and  the  convalescences  of  the  mind  are  not 
less  charming  nor  less  miraculous  than  the  physical  conva- 
lescences. Before  a  small,  flowering  shrub,  before  a  branch 
covered  with  small  buds,  before  a  vigorous  shoot  growing 
out  of  an  old  and  almost  dead  trunk,  before  the  most  mod- 
est metamorphoses  accomplished  by  spring,  I  stopped, 
artless,  ingenuous,  stupefied. 

Often,  in  the  morning,  I  went  out  with  my  brother.  At 
that  hour,  everything  was  cool,  graceful,  unconstrained. 


60  THE   INTRUDER. 

Federico's  company  purified  me  and  strengthened  me 
not  less  than  the  good  country  air.  Federico  was  then 
twenty-seven  years  old ;  he  had  almost  always  lived  in  the 
country,  where  he  led  a  sober  and  laborious  existence,  and 
the  earth  seemed  to  have  communicated  to  him  its  mild 
sincerity.  He  was  in  possession  of  the  rule  of  life.  Leon 
Tolstoi,  as  he  kissed  his  fine,  serene  brow,  would  have  called 
him,  "My  son." 

We  walked  across  the  fields,  without  an  object,  exchang- 
ing but  few  words.  He  praised  the  fertility  of  our 
domains,  explained  to  me  the  innovations  introduced  in  their 
cultivation,  pointing  out  the  progress  made.  The  cottages 
of  our  peasants  were  large  and  airy  and  coquettishly  kept. 
Our  stables  were  full  of  healthy  and  well -nourished  cattle. 
Our  dairies  were  admirably  equipped.  Often,  on  the  way, 
he  stopped  to  examine  a  plant,  and  his  virile  hands  could 
touch  with  the  greatest  delicacy  the  little  green  leaves  at 
the  tip  of  a  new  shoot.  At  times  we  passed  through  an 
orchard.  The  peach-trees,  apple-trees,  pear-trees,  cherry- 
trees,  plum-trees,  and  apricot-trees  bore  on  their  branches 
thousands  of  flowers,  and,  below,  the  transparency  of  the 
rosy  and  silvery  petals  metamorphosed  the  light  into  a  sort 
of  humid  atmosphere,  into  an  indescribable  thing,  divinely 
graceful  and  hospitable.  Through  the  small  interstices  of 
these  light  garlands  smiled  the  blue  sky. 

While  I  was  admiring  the  flowers,  he  was  already  antici- 
pating the  future  treasure  suspended  from  the  branches, 
and  said : 

"  You  will  see — you  will  see  the  fruit." 

"Yes,  I  shall  see  it,"  I  repeated  to  myself,  inwardly. 
"I  shall  see  the  flowers  fall,  the  leaves  born,  the  fruit 
grow,  color,  ripen,  and  fall." 

It  was  from  my  brother's  mouth  that  this  affirmation  first 


THE    INTRUDER.  6l 

issued,  and  it  assumed  for  me  a  grave  importance,  as  if  it 
presaged  I  know  not  what  promised  and  expected  happiness, 
that  was  certain  to  arrive  during  the  period  of  the  vegetal 
labor,  at  the  period  separating  the  flower  from  the  fruit. 
"  Even  before  I  manifested  my  intention  to  do  so,  it 
already  seems  natural  to  my  brother  that,  henceforth,  I 
should  live  here,  in  the  country,  with  him  and  our  mother; 
for  he  said  I  shall  see  the  fruit  of  his  trees.  He  is  sure  I 
shall  see  them.  So  it  is  quite  true  that  a  new  life  has 
begun  again  for  me,  and  that  my  innate  sensation  does  not 
deceive  me.  In  fact,  everything,  now,  is  being  accom- 
plished with  a  strange,  unusual  facility,  with  an  abundance 
of  love.  How  I  love  Federico !  Never  have  I  loved 
him  so  much  before."  Such  were  the  soliloquies  that  I 
indulged  in,  soliloquies  somewhat  disconnected,  incoherent, 
at  times  puerile,  because  of  the  singular  disposition  of  soul 
that  made  me  recognize  in  no  matter  what  insignificant  fact 
a  favorable  sign,  a  happy  prognostication. 

My  keenest  joy  was  in  knowing  myself  to  be  far  removed 
from  the  past,  far  from  certain  places  and  certain  persons, 
freed  forever.  Sometimes,  in  order  to  better  enjoy  the 
peace  of  this  vernal  country,  I  imagined  to  myself  the 
space  that  separated  me  now  from  the  shadowy  world  in 
which  I  had  suffered  so  many  and  such  culpable  sufferings. 
Sometimes,  too,  a  confused  fear  seized  me  again,  com- 
pelled me  to  restlessly  seek  about  me  the  motives  of  my 
present  security,  forced  me  to  place  my  arm  on  my  brother's 
arm,  and  read  in  his  eyes  the  indubitable  and  protecting 
affection. 

I  had  a  blind  confidence  in  Federico.  I  should  have 
liked,  not  only  that  he  should  love  me,  but  that  he  should 
dominate  me.  I  should  have  liked  to  cede  to  him  my  right 
as  the  elder,  because  he  was  more  worthy,  to  submit  to  his 


62  THE   INTRUDER. 

advice,  to  have  him  for  a  guide,  to  obey  him.  At  his  side, 
I  should  not  have  run  the  peril  of  being  lost,  since  he  knew 
the  right  way  and  trod  it  with  an  infallible  step.  And, 
more  than  that,  he  was  strong  of  arm,  he  would  have 
defended  me.  He  was  the  exemplary  man — good,  ener- 
getic, sagacious.  To  me,  nothing  equalled  in  nobleness 
the  sight  of  his  youth  devoted  to  the  religion  of  "  to  act 
conscientiously,"  consecrated  to  the  love  of  the  Earth.  One 
would  say  that  his  eyes,  in  the  continual  contemplation 
of  verdant  nature,  had  borrowed  something  of  its  limpid 
vegetal  color. 

"Jesus  of  the  soil,"  I  called  him  one  day,  smiling. 

That  was  on  a  morning  pregnant  with  innocence,  one 
of  those  mornings  that  evoked  the  images  of  primordial 
daybreaks  at  the  infancy  of  the  world.  My  brother  was 
speaking  to  a  group  of  laborers  at  the  edge  of  a  field.  He 
spoke  standing,  taller  by  a  head  than  those  around  him, 
and  his  calm  gesture  indicated  the  simplicity  of  his  words. 
Old  men  grown  white  in  wisdom,  mature  men  already  on 
the  confines  of  old  age,  were  listening  to  the  young  man. 
All  bore  on  their  knotty  bodies  the  mark  of  the  great  com- 
mon toil.  As  there  were  no  trees  in  the  vicinity,  and  as 
the  wheat  was  low  in  the  furrows,  their  attitudes  were  fully 
outlined  in  the  sanctity  of  the  light.  When  he  saw  that 
I  was  coming  towards  him,  he  dismissed  his  men  in  order 
to  come  forward  to  meet  me.  And  then  fell  spontaneously 
from  my  lips  this  salutation  : 

"  Jesus  of  the  soil,  hosanna  !  " 

To  every  vegetable  growth  he  paid  infinite  attentions. 
Nothing  escaped  his  penetrating  and,  so  to  speak,  omni- 
spective  regard.  During  our  matinal  walks,  he  stopped  at 
every  step  to  remove  from  some  leaf  a  snail,  a  caterpillar, 
or  an  ant.  One  day,  while  carelessly  walking  along,  I 


THE    INTRUDER.  63 

struck  the  plants  with  the  end  of  my  stick,  and  at  every 
blow  the  ends  of  the  verdant  stems  flew  in  all  directions. 
That  gave  him  pain,  since  he  took  the  stick  from  my 
hands,  but  with  a  gentle  movement,  and  he  blushed,  think- 
ing perhaps  that  his  pity  might  seem  to  me  an  exaggera- 
tion of  sickly  sentimentality.  Oh !  that  blush  on  that 
manly  face. 

Another  day,  as  I  was  breaking  off  a  flowering  branch 
from  an  apple-tree,  I  surprised  in  Federico's  eyes  a  shadow 
of  sorrow.  I  stopped  immediately,  and  withdrew  my 
hands,  saying : 

"  Does  it  displease  you  ..." 

He  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  You  may  despoil  the  entire 
tree." 

Yet  the  broken  branch,  held  by  several  live  fibres,  hung 
down  the  trunk,  and,  truly,  that  wound,  moist  with  sap, 
had  an  appearance  of  a  thing  in  pain ;  those  fragile  flowers, 
flesh-colored  with  pale  spots,  like  bunches  of  simple  roses, 
grown  from  a  germ  henceforth  condemned,  continued  to 
thrill  in  the  breeze. 

Then,  so  as  to  excuse  the  cruelty  of  my  aggression,  I 
said : 

"It  is  for  Juliana." 

And,  breaking  the  last  live  fibres,  I  detached  the  broken 
branch. 


III. 


I  CARRIED  this  branch  to  Juliana,  and  many  others 
besides.  I  never  returned  to  the  Badiola  without  a  load  of 
flowered  gifts. 

One  morning,  as  I  was  carrying  a  bunch  of  hawthorns,  I 
met  my  mother  in  the  vestibule ;  I  was  somewhat  out  of 
breath,  heated,  disturbed  by  a  slight  intoxication. 

"  Where  is  Juliana  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Upstairs,  in  her  room,"  she  answered,  laughing. 

I  ran  up  the  staircase,  crossed  the  corridor,  entered  the 
room,  crying : 

"  Juliana,  Juliana,  where  are  you  ?  " 

Maria  and  Natalia  ran  to  meet  me,  giving  me  a  bois- 
terous welcome,  delighted  at  the  sight  of  the  flowers,  danc- 
ing about  as  if  possessed. 

"  Come  in  !  Come  in  !  "  they  cried.  "  Mamma  is  here, 
in  the  bedroom.  Come  in  !  " 

On  crossing  the  threshold  my  heart  beat  faster.  Juliana 
was  there,  smiling  and  embarrassed.  I  threw  the  bunch  at 
her  feet. 

"Look!" 

II  Oh  !    how  beautiful!"    she   exclaimed,  bending  over 
the  fragrant  treasure. 

She  was  dressed  in  one  of  her  favorite  gowns,  hanging  in 
ample  and  graceful  folds,  and  of  a  green  hue  resembling 
the  green  of  an  aloes-leaf.  Her  hair,  not  yet  dressed, 
covered  the  nape  of  her  neck,  hiding  her  ears  beneath  its 


THE    INTRUDER.  65 

thick  masses.  The  emanations  from  the  hawthorns,  that 
odor  of  thyme  mixed  with  bitter  almonds,  enveloped,  inun- 
dated the  room,  penetrating  everything. 

"  Take  care  not  to  prick  yourself,"  I  said  to  her.  "  See 
my  hands." 

I  showed  her  the  still  bleeding  lacerations,  as  if  to 
enhance  the  value  of  my  offering.  "  Oh  !  if  now  she  would 
take  my  hands  !  "  I  thought.  And  in  my  mind  passed  con- 
fusedly the  recollection  of  a  day,  far  distant,  when  she  had 
kissed  my  hands,  lacerated  by  the  thorns,  when  she  had 
wanted  to  suck  the  drops  of  blood  that  appeared  one  after 
the  other.  "  If  now  she  would  take  my  hands,  and  if,  by 
this  single  action,  she  would  accord  me  full  pardon,  and 
yield  herself  up  to  me  entirely  !  " 

At  that  time  I  was  in  constant  expectation  of  some  such 
movement.  I  could  not,  of  course,  have  said  what  gave  me 
such  confidence ;  but  I  was  sure  that  Juliana  would  give 
herself  to  me  again  in  this  manner  sooner  or  later,  by  some 
simple  and  silent  action  by  which  she  would  "  accord  me 
full  pardon  and  yield  herself  up  to  me  entirely." 

She  smiled.  A  shade  of  suffering  passed  over  her  pale 
face  and  in  her  sunken  eyes. 

"  Don't  you  feel  a  little  better  since  you  are  here  ?  "  I 
asked,  approaching  her. 

"  Yes,  I'm  better,"  she  answered. 

Then,  after  a  pause  : 

"And  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  I !     I  am  cured.     Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  true." 

At  that  time,  when  she  spoke  to  me,  her  words  had  a 

curious  hesitation  that  seemed   to  me  full   of  grace,  but 

which  now  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  define.      One  would 

have  said  that  she  was  continually  preoccupied  in  restrain- 

5 


66  THE    INTRUDER. 

ing  the  word  that  rose  to  her  lips,  to  pronounce  another 
word.  Moreover,  her  voice  was,  so  to  speak,  morey^;;//- 
nine ;  it  had  lost  its  former  firmness,  and  some  of  its  sono- 
rousness ;  it  was  veiled,  like  an  instrument  played  in  secret. 

But,  since  it  had  only  tender  accents  for  me  now,  what 
obstacle  prevented  us  from  being  all  in  all  to  each  other 
again  ?  What  obstacle  maintained  the  separation  between 
us? 

During  that  period,  which  in  the  history  of  my  soul  will 
ever  remain  mysterious,  my  natural  perspicacity  seemed  to 
have  deserted  me.  All  my  terrible  analytical  faculties, 
even  those  that  had  made  me  suffer  so  much,  seemed  ex- 
hausted; the  power  of  these  restless  faculties  appeared 
to  be  annihilated.  Innumerable  sensations,  innumerable 
feelings  relative  to  that  epoch,  are  now  incomprehensible, 
inexplicable,  because  I  have  no  indication  to  aid  me  in 
retracing  their  origin,  in  determining  their  character. 
There  was  a  break  in  the  continuity,  or  lack  of  solder 
between  that  period  of  my  psychic  existence  and  the  other 
periods. 

Formerly,  I  had  narrated  a  fabulous  tale  in  which  a  young 
prince,  after  the  adventures  of  a  long  pilgrimage,  finally 
succeeds  in  rejoining  the  lady  whom  he  had  pursued  with 
his  ardent  love.  The  young  man  trembled  with  hope,  and 
the  lady  smiled  on  him,  close  by.  But  a  veil  seemed  to 
render  this  smiling  lady  intangible,  a  veil  of  unknown  sub- 
stance, so  subtle  that  it  was  confounded  with  the  air ;  and, 
nevertheless,  this  veil  was  a  barrier  that  prohibited  the 
young  man  from  clasping  the  woman  he  loved  to  his  heart. 

This  fable  helps  me  a  little  to  form  an  idea  of  the  singu- 
lar state  in  which  I  found  myself  at  that  time  vis-b-vis 
Juliana.  I  felt  that  between  her  and  me  an  unknown  some- 
thing constantly  maintained  an  abyss.  But,  at  the  same 


THE   INTRUDER.  67 

time,  I  was  confident  that,  sooner  or  later,  the  "  simple 
and  silent  gesture  "  would  annihilate  the  obstacle  and  bring 
back  my  happiness. 

Meanwhile,  how  Juliana's  room  pleased  me  !  It  was 
furnished  with  light-colored  hangings,  with  faded  pink 
flowers,  and  it  had  a  deep  alcove.  What  a  perfume  the 
hawthorns  shed  ! 

"This  odor  is  penetrating,"  she  said,  very  pale.  "It 
gives  one  a  headache.  Don't  you  feel  it  ?  " 

She  went  and  opened  a  window. 

Then  she  added : 

"  Maria,  call  Miss  Edith." 

The  governess  came  in. 

"Edith,  please  take  these  flowers  to  the  music-room ; 
put  them  into  vases.  Take  care  not  to  prick  yourself." 

Maria  and  Natalia  wanted  to  carry  a  part  of  the  bunch. 
We  remained  alone.  She  went  once  more  to  the  window, 
and  leaned  against  it,  her  back  turned  toward  the  light. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  do  ?  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  ?" 
I  asked. 

"No,  no;  stay,  be  seated.  Tell  me  about  your  walk 
this  morning.  How  far  did  you  go  ?  " 

She  spoke  with  some  precipitation.  As  the  window 
support  was  at  about  the  height  of  her  waist,  she  had 
placed  her  elbows  on  it,  and  her  bust  was  inclined  back- 
ward, framed  by  the  rectangle  of  the  window.  Her  face, 
turned  directly  toward  me,  was  entirely  shaded,  particularly 
about  the  orbits  of  the  eyes ;  but  her  hair,  on  the  summit 
of  which  fell  the  light,  formed  a  slight  aureole ;  the  light 
also  touched  the  tops  of  her  shoulders.  One  of  her  feet — 
the  one  that  supported  the  weight  of  her  body — was  raised, 
drawing  up  the  dress,  partly  disclosing  the  ash-colored  stock- 
ing and  the  patent-leather  slipper.  In  that  attitude,  in 


68  THE    INTRUDER. 

that  light,  her  entire  person  possessed  extraordinarily 
seductive  power.  A  section  of  bluish  and  voluptuous  land- 
scape, pinked  out  between  the  two  window-posts,  formed  a 
distant  background  behind  her  head. 

And  then,  instantaneously,  as  if  by  a  crushing  revela- 
tion, I  saw  once  more  in  her  the  desirable  woman ;  and  all 
my  blood  fired  up  at  the  memory  of,  and  the  desire  of,  her 
caresses. 

I  spoke  to  her,  my  eyes  fixed  on  her.  And  the  more  I 
gazed  on  her,  the  more  disturbed  I  became.  She  also,  no 
doubt,  must  have  read  my  look,  since  her  uneasiness  became 
visible.  I  thought,  with  poignant  internal  anxiety:  "  If  I 
only  dared  ?  If  I  went  closer  to  her  ?  If  I  took  her  in 
my  arms  ?  ' '  The  apparent  assurance  that  I  sought  to  put 
in  my  frivolous  remarks  rapidly  abandoned  me.  My  dis- 
turbance grew.  My  embarrassment  became  insupportable. 

From  the  adjoining  rooms  came  the  sound  of  the  voices 
of  Maria,  Natalia,  and  Edith,  indistinctly. 

I  arose,  approached  the  window,  and  stood  beside  Juli- 
ana. I  was  on  the  point  of  bending  toward  her  to  speak  at 
last  the  words  that  I  had  so  many  times  repeated  to  myself 
in  imaginary  conversations.  But  the  fear  of  a  probable 
interruption  stopped  me.  I  thought  that  perhaps  the 
moment  was  badly  chosen,  that  perhaps  I  should  not  have 
the  time  to  say  all  to  her,  to  open  all  my  heart  to  her,  to 
relate  my  intimate  life  during  the  last  few  weeks,  the  mys- 
terious convalescence  of  my  soul,  the  awakening  of  my  most 
tender  fibres,  the  arousing  of  my  most  delicate  dreams,  the 
depth  of  my  new  sensation,  the  tenacity  of  my  hope.  I 
thought  that  I  should  not  have  the  time  to  recount  in  detail 
the  recent  episodes,  to  make  those  little,  innocent  confes- 
sions to  her,  so  delicious  to  the  ear  of  the  woman  who  loves, 
fresh  with  sincerity,  more  persuasive  than  any  eloquence. 


THE    INTRUDER.  69 

In  fact,  I  must  succeed  in  convincing  her  of  a  great  truth, 
perhaps  incredible  to  her  after  so  many  disillusions ;  suc- 
ceed in  convincing  her  that  now  my  return  was  no  longer 
deceptive,  but  sincere,  definite,  necessitated  by  a  vital 
desire  of  my  entire  being.  Of  course,  she  was  still  dis- 
trustful ;  of  course,  her  distrust  was  the  cause  of  her  reserve. 
Between  us  the  shadow  of  an  atrocious  recollection  ever 
interposed  itself.  It  was  for  me  to  banish  this  shadow,  to 
draw  my  soul  and  hers  so  closely  together  that  nothing 
more  could  interpose  between  them.  But,  for  that,  a  favor- 
able occasion  was  required  in  some  secret  and  silent  place, 
inhabited  only  by  memories.  That  place  was  the  Lilacs. 

We  remained  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  by  each 
other's  side,  both  silent.  From  the  adjoining  rooms  came 
the  sound  of  the  voices  of  Maria,  Natalia,  and  Edith, 
indistinctly.  The  perfume  of  the  hawthorn  was  dissipated. 
The  curtains  that  hung  from  the  arch  of  the  alcove  per- 
mitted a  view  of  the  bed  in  its  depth,  and  my  eyes  wan- 
dered ceaselessly  toward  it,  searching  the  shadows,  almost 
concupiscent. 

Juliana  had  lowered  her  head,  perhaps  because  she  also 
felt  the  delicious  and  agonizing  weight  of  the  silence.  The 
light  breeze  toyed  with  a  loose  curl  on  her  temple.  The 
restless  agitation  of  that  dark  curl,  in  which  were  light 
scattered  threads  of  gold,  on  that  temple  white  as  a  wafer, 
made  me  languorous.  And,  as  I  gazed  at  her,  I  saw  again 
on  her  neck  the  little  brown  mole  which,  in  former  days, 
had  so  often  curiously  attracted  me. 

Then,  incapable  of  containing  myself,  with  a  mixture  of 
apprehension  and  hardihood,  I  raised  my  hand  to  arrange 
the  curl ;  and  my  fingers  trembled  on  her  hair,  and  they 
brushed  against  the  ear,  the  neck,  but  lightly,  very  lightly, 
with  the  most  furtive  of  caresses. 


70  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  said  Juliana,  shaken  by  a  start, 
turning  on  me  a  bewildered  look,  trembling  perhaps  more 
than  I. 

She  left  the  window.  Then,  feeling  that  I  was  following 
her,  she  made  several  steps  as  if  to  flee,  dismayed. 

"  Ah  !  Juliana,  why,  why  ?  "  I  cried,  stopping  short. 

Then  immediately  I  added  : 

"  It  is  true.     I  am  still  unworthy.     Pardon  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  two  bells  of  the  chapel  began  to 
chime.  And  Maria  and  Natalia  rushed  into  the  room,  ran 
up  to  their  mother  with  cries  of  joy,  and  hung  around  her 
neck,  one  after  the  other,  covering  her  face  with  kisses ; 
then,  leaving  their  mother,  they  came  to  me,  and  I  raised 
them  in  my  arms,  one  after  the  other. 

The  two  bells  chimed  furiously ;  the  whole  of  the  Badi- 
ola  seemed  to  be  invaded  by  the  thrill  of  the  bronze.  It 
was  Holy  Saturday,  the  hour  of  the  Resurrection. 


IV. 


IN  the  afternoon  of  that  same  Saturday,  I  had  a  strange 
attack  of  melancholy. 

The  post  had  arrived  at  the  Badiola,  and  I  happened  to 
be  in  the  billiard-room  with  my  brother,  glancing  through 
the  newspapers.  My  eyes  fell  by  chance  on  the  name  of 
Filippo  Arborio,  mentioned  in  an  article.  A  sudden  agi- 
tation seized  me.  Thus  it  is  that  a  slight  jar  will  stir  up 
the  dregs  of  a  quiescent  liquid. 

I  remember.  It  was  a  foggy  afternoon,  illuminated  by 
the  fatigued  reverberation  of  a  whitish  light.  Outside, 
before  the  window  looking  on  the  lawn,  Juliana  passed  with 
my  mother,  arm  in  arm,  chatting.  Juliana  carried  a  book, 
and  walked  as  if  fatigued. 

With  the  incoherence  of  the  images  that  unrolled  before 
me  in  thought,  there  arose  in  my  mind  certain  remnants  of 
my  past  life  :  Juliana  before  the  mirror,  on  that  November 
day;  the  bouquet  of  white  chrysanthemums;  my  anxiety 
on  hearing  the  air  from  Orpheus;  the  words  written  on 
the  fly-leaf  of  The  Secret;  the  color  of  Juliana's  dress;  my 
soliloquy  at  the  window;  Filippo  Arborio's  face,  dripping 
with  perspiration;  the  scene  in  the  dressing-room  of  the 
salle  d'armes.  I  thought  with  a  shudder  of  fear,  like  a  man 
who  suddenly  finds  himself  leaning  over  the  edge  of  a 
precipice  :  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  I  am  lost  ?  " 

Overcome  by  anguish,  feeling  a  desire  to  be  alone  in 
order  to  commune  with  myself,  to  meet  my  fear  face  to 


72  THE    INTRUDER. 

face,  I  took  leave  of  my  brother,  left  the  hall,  and  returned 
to  my  room. 

My  agitation  was  mingled  with  impatience  and  anger.  I 
was  like  a  man  who,  in  the  midst  of  the  comfort  of  an 
illusory  cure,  in  the  full  assurance  of  having  regained  his 
health,  would  feel  all  at  once  the  sting  of  his  old  malady, 
would  perceive  that  in  his  flesh  the  ineradicable  disease 
still  remained,  and  would  be  constrained  to  watch  himself, 
to  note  his  symptoms,  in  order  to  convince  himself  of  the 
horrible  truth.  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  I  am  lost?  And 
why?" 

In  the  strange  forgetfulness  in  which  the  entire  past  was 
buried,  in  that  sort  of  obscurity  which  seemed  to  have 
entirely  invaded  one  layer  of  my  conscience,  the  doubt 
against  Juliana,  that  odious  doubt,  had  also  vanished,  was 
dissolved.  My  soul  had  so  great  a  desire  to  lull  itself  with 
illusions,  to  believe  and  to  hope  !  My  mother's  saintly 
hand,  in  caressing  Juliana's  hair,  had  rekindled  for  me  the 
aureole  around  that  head.  By  one  of  those  sentimental 
errors  frequent  during  the  period  of  weakness,  when  I  had 
seen  the  two  women  leading  the  same  existence  in  such 
sweet  concord,  I  had  involved  them  in  the  same  irradiation 
of  purity. 

But  now,  a  slight  accidental  fact,  a  mere  name  read  by 
chance  in  a  journal,  the  awakening  of  a  recollection  had  suf- 
ficed to  upset  me,  to  frighten  me,  to  open  an  abyss  beneath 
my  feet ;  and  I  did  not  dare  sound  the  depths  of  a  reso- 
lute scrutiny,  because  my  dream  of  happiness  withheld  me, 
drew  me  back,  clung  to  me  obstinately.  I  wavered  at  first 
in  an  obscure  and  indefinable  anguish,  traversed  at  moments 
by  dreadful  glimpses.  "  It  may  be  that  she  is  not  pure, 
and  then  ?  Filippo  Arborio,  or  another  .  .  .  who  knows  ? 
Were  I  certain  of  the  sin,  could  I  pardon  it  ?  What 


THE    INTRUDER.  73 

sin  ?  What  pardon  ?  You  have  not  the  right  to  judge 
her ;  you  have  not  the  right  to  raise  your  voice.  She  has 
kept  silent  too  often.  Now,  it  is  your  duty  to  keep  silent. 
And  your  happiness  ?  The  happiness  that  you  dream  of,  is' 
it  your  own  or  does  it  belong  to  both  of  you  ?  To  both  of 
you,  of  course ;  for  the  shadow  of  her  sorrow  would  suffice 
to  obscure  all  your  joys.  You  suppose  that,  if  you  are 
happy,  she  will  be  happy  also — you  with  your  past  of  con- 
stant misconduct,  she  with  her  past  of  constant  martyr- 
dom ?  The  happiness  that  you  dream  of  has  for  its  only 
foundation  the  abolition  of  the  past.  Why,  then,  if  she 
had  truly  ceased  to  be  pure,  would  it  be  impossible  to 
throw  a  veil  over  it  or  condone  her  sin  as  you  would  your 
own  ?  Why,  if  she  forgets,  should  you  not  forget,  yourself  ? 
Why,  if  you  claim  to  be  a  man  without  prejudice  and  com- 
pletely freed  from  social  convention,  should  you  not  con- 
sider her  also  as  a  woman  in  the  same  state  of  being  ? 
Such  an  inequality  would  be  perhaps  the  worst  of  your 
injustices.  But  the  Ideal  ?  But  the  Ideal  ?  My  own 
felicity  would  not  be  possible  except  on  the  condition  of 
recognizing  in  Juliana  a  creature  absolutely  superior, 
impeccable,  worthy  of  every  adoration ;  and  it  is  precisely 
also  in  the  innate  feeling  of  this  superiority,  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  personal  moral  greatness,  that  she  would 
find  the  most  precious  elements  of  her  own  felicity.  I 
should  not  succeed  in  forgetting  my  own  past  or  hers, 
because  the  existence  of  this  special  happiness  presupposes 
both  the  profligacy  of  my  former  life  and  her  unconquered 
and  almost  superhuman  heroism,  the  image  of  which  has 
always  constrained  my  mind  to  bow  before  it.  But  do  you 
take  into  account  the  amount  of  egotism  and  high  ideality 
that  enters  into  your  dream  ?  Do  you  believe  you  merit 
that  supreme  prize,  happiness  ?  By  what  privilege  ?  So 


74  THE    INTRUDER. 

your  long  misconduct  has  entitled  you,  not  to  expiation, 
but  to  a  reward  ?  ' ' 

I  rose  hastily  to  my  feet  to  cut  short  this  debate.  "  In 
brief,  it  concerns  only  an  old  suspicion,  very  vague,  and 
awakened  by  chance.  This  unreasonable  agitation  v/ill  go 
away.  I  have  made  a  substance  of  a  shadow.  In  two  or 
three  days,  after  Easter,  we  will  go  to  the  Lilacs,  and  then 
I  shall  know,  I  shall  unquestionably^/ the  truth.  But  is 
not  that  profound  and  immutable  melancholy  which  is  in  her 
eyes  also  suspicious  ?  That  bewildered  air,  that  species  of 
continual  preoccupation  which  is  marked  so  heavily  on  her 
brow,  that  great  fatigue  which  is  revealed  by  certain  atti- 
tudes, that  anguish  which  she  cannot  succeed  in  dissimulat- 
ing at  your  approach — is  not  all  that  suspicious  ?  "  The 
ambiguity  of  such  symptoms  bore  also  a  favorable  interpre- 
tation. Then,  submerged  by  a  flood  of  the  most  violent 
pain,  I  went  up  to  the  window,  with  the  instinctive  desire 
of  plunging  into  the  spectacle  of  the  outer  world  to  dis- 
cover there  something  that  would  correspond  to  the  state  of 
my  soul — a  revelation  or  an  appeasement. 

The  sky  was  quite  white,  like  a  scaffolding  of  super- 
imposed veils  between  which  the  air  circulated,  producing 
large  mobile  folds.  One  of  these  veils  seemed  at  times  to 
detach  itself  and  approach  the  earth,  graze  the  tops  of 
the  trees,  break  up,  be  reduced  to  falling  fragments,  undu- 
late on  the  ground,  fade  away.  On  the  horizon,  the 
lines  of  the  heights  were  confusedly  unrolled,  disappear- 
ing to  reappear  in  the  fantastic  landscapes,  like  a  vista 
perceived  in  a  dream,  without  reality.  A  lead-colored 
shadow  covered  the  valley,  and  the  Assoro,  whose  shores 
were  invisible,  animated  it  with  its  reflections.  This  tor- 
tuous river,  glistening  in  that  sombre  gulf,  beneath  that 
slow  and  continued  disaggregation  of  the  sky,  attracted  the 


THE    INTRUDER.  75 

attention,  and  had  for  the  mind  the  fascination  of  symbol- 
ical things,  seemed  to  bear  in  itself  the  occult  sense  of 
that  indefinable  spectacle. 

My  pain  gradually  lost  its  acuteness,  became  appeased 
and  calm.  "  Why  do  you  aspire  with  such  avidity  to  a 
happiness  of  which  you  are  not  worthy  ?  Why  do  you  base 
the  whole  edifice  of  your  future  life  on  an  illusion  ?  Why 
believe  with  such  blind  faith  in  a  privilege  that  does  not 
exist  ?  All  men  perhaps,  in  the  course  of  their  lives, 
encounter  a  decisive  period  in  which  the  most  perspica- 
cious are  able  to  understand  what  their  life  should  be. 
That  period  you  have  already  met.  Remember  the  moment 
when  the  white  and  faithful  hand  which  offered  you  love, 
indulgence,  peace,  dreams,  forgetfulness,  everything  that  is 
good  and  beautiful,  trembled  in  the  air,  was  extended 
toward  you  as  if  for  the  supreme  offering  .  .  ." 

Bitterness  swelled  my  heart  with  tears.  I  leaned  my 
elbows  on  the  balustrade,  my  hands  to  my  face,  and,  my 
eyes  fixed  on  the  windings  of  the  river  at  the  bottom  of 
the  leaden  valley,  while  the  scaffolding  of  the  sky  cease- 
lessly disaggregated,  I  remained  for  several  minutes  under 
the  menace  of  an  imminent  punishment,  I  felt  that  an 
unknown  disaster  was  suspended  above  me. 

But,  suddenly,  from  the  room  below  arose  the  sound  of 
the  piano;  and  instantaneously,  that  heavy  oppression  dis- 
appeared, and  I  was  seized  by  a  confused  anxiety  in  which 
all  the  dreams,  every  desire,  each  hope,  every  regret, 
remorse,  and  terror  were  mingled  anew  with  inconceivable 
and  suffocating  rapidity. 

I  recognized  the  music.  It  was  a  Romance  without  Words 
of  which  Juliana  was  very  fond,  and  which  Miss  Edith  often 
played;  it  was  one  of  those  veiled  yet  profound  melodies 
in  which  the  Soul  appeared  to  ask  Life,  with  ever-changing 


76  THE   INTRUDER. 

accents,  this  single  question,  "  Why  have  you  disappointed 
my  expectation  ?  " 

Yielding  to  a  kind  of  instinctive  impulse,  I  went  out, 
agitated,  traversed  the  corridor,  descended  the  staircase, 
and  stopped  before  the  door  from  which  issued  the  sounds. 
The  door  was  ajar;  I  slipped  in  without  making  any  noise, 
and  looked  through  the  portieres.  Was  it  Juliana  ?  At 
first  my  eyes,  blinded  by  the  light,  were  incapable  of  dis- 
tinguishing anything,  before  adapting  themselves  to  the 
darkness ;  but  I  was  struck  by  the  penetrating  perfume  of 
the  hawthorns,  that  odor  of  mingled  thyme  and  bitter- 
almond,  fresh  as  country  milk.  I  looked  in.  The  room 
was  poorly  lighted  by  a  greenish  light  that  struggled  in 
from  between  the  slats  of  the  Venetian  blinds.  Miss 
Edith  was  alone  at  the  piano,  and  she  continued  to 
play  without  noticing  my  presence.  The  polished  case 
of  the  instrument  glistened  in  the  dark;  the  branches 
of  hawthorns  made  a  white  spot.  In  the  quiet  of  this 
retreat,  in  this  perfume  emanating  from  the  branches  that 
recalled  the  happy  matinal  intoxication,  and  Juliana's 
smile  and  my  own  fear,  the  romance  seemed  more  desolate 
than  ever. 

Where  was  Juliana  ?  Gone  upstairs  ?  Still  out  of 
doors  ?  I  withdrew;  I  went  down  the  other  stairs;  I  trav- 
ersed the  vestibule  without  meeting  anyone.  I  had  an 
unconquerable  desire  to  seek  her,  to  see  her;  I  thought 
that,  perhaps,  it  would  suffice  me  to  be  near  her  in  order  to 
recover  my  calmness,  to  regain  confidence.  On  going  out 
on  the  lawn,  I  perceived  her  beneath  the  elms,  sitting  with 
Federico. 

Both  smiled  at  me.  When  I  came  up  to  them  my  brother 
said  smilingly : 

"  We  were   speaking  of  you.     Juliana  thinks  you  will 


THE    INTRUDER.  77 

soon  be  tired  of  the  Badiola.  ...  If  so,  what  will 
become  of  our  projects?  " 

11  No,  Juliana  does  not  know"  I  replied,  making  an 
effort  to  recover  my  habitual  ease.  "  But  you  will  see. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  of  Rome  that  I  am  tired  .  .  . 
and  of  everything  else. ' ' 

I  looked  at  Juliana.  A  marvellous  change  was  taking 
place  in  my  soul.  The  sad  things  that,  up  to  then,  had 
oppressed  me,  now  faded  away,  disappeared,  gave  place  to 
a  salutary  feeling  that  the  mere  sight  of  her  and  of  my 
brother  sufficed  to  awaken  in  me.  She  was  seated  in  a 
careless  and  nonchalant  attitude,  holding  on  her  knees  a 
book  that  I  recognized,  the  book  that  I  had  given  her  some 
days  before,  Tolstoi's  Peace  and  War.  Truly,  all  about 
her,  her  attitude,  her  look,  breathed  sweetness  and  good- 
ness. And  in  me  an  emotion  was  born  similar  to  that  which 
I  should  doubtless  have  felt  if,  in  the  same  place,  beneath 
the  familiar  elms,  that  shed  their  dead  flowers,  I  had  seen 
Constance,  the  poor  sister,  side  by  side  with  Federico. 

The  elms  rained  thousands  of  flowers  at  every  breath  of 
the  wind.  There  was,  in  the  white  light,  a  continual  and 
very  slow  rain  of  diaphanous,  almost  impalpable  pellicles, 
that  loitered  in  the  air,  hesitating,  trembling  like  the  wings 
of  dragon-flies,  of  an  indefinable  color  between  green  and 
blond,  and  whose  incessant  fall  imparted  a  sensation  of 
vertigo.  They  fell  on  Juliana's  knees,  on  her  shoulders; 
from  time  to  time  she  made  a  movement  to  remove  one 
that  had  ensconced  itself  in  her  hair. 

"  Ah  !  If  Tullio  stays  at  the  Badiola,"  said  Federico, 
addressing  her,  "  we  will  do  great  things.  We  will  pro- 
mulgate the  new  agrarian  laws;  we  will  establish  the  foun- 
dations of  the  new  agricultural  constitution.  .  .  .  You 
smile?  You  also  will  have  your  share  in  our  work;  we 


78  THE   INTRUDER. 

will  confide  to  you  the  execution  of  two  or  three  precepts  of 
our  Decalogue.  You  will  work  like  the  others.  Apropos, 
Tullio,  when  shall  we  commence  this  novitiate  ?  Your 
hands  are  too  white.  Eh  !  It  is  not  enough  to  simply  prick 
them  with  thorns.  .  .  ." 

He  spoke  gayly,  in  his  clear  and  strong  voice,  that  imme- 
diately inspired  every  listener  with  a  feeling  of  security  and 
confidence.  He  spoke  of  his  old  and  new  projects  relative 
to  the  interpretation  of  the  primitive  Christian  law  on  ali- 
mentary labor  with  a  gravity  of  thought  and  emotion  that 
tempered  that  sportive  gayety  with  which  he  protected 
himself  as  with  a  veil  of  modesty  against  the  admiration 
and  eulogy  of  his  auditors.  In  him  all  appeared  simple, 
easy,  spontaneous.  This  young  man,  by  the  sole  power  of 
a  mind  that  illumined  his  inborn  virtue,  had  had,  for 
several  years  already,  the  intuition  of  the  social  theory  that 
the  Moujik  Bondareff  inspired  in  Leo  Tolstoi.  At  that 
time,  he  had  not  the  least  knowledge  of  Peace  and  War, 
the  great  book  that  had  just  appeared  in  the  East. 

"Here  is  a  book  for  you,"  I  said  to  him,  taking  the 
volume  from  Juliana's  knees. 

"  Thanks  ;  lend  it  to  me.     I  will  read  it." 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  I  asked  Juliana. 

"  Yes  ;  very  much.  It  is  sad  and  consoling  at  the  same 
time.  I  already  love  Marie  Bolkonsky,  and  Pierre  Besouk- 
how  too." 

I  sat  down  near  her,  on  a  bench.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I  was  thinking  of  nothing,  that  I  had  not  one  precise 
thought ;  but  my  soul  kept  vigil  and  meditated.  There  was 
a  manifest  contrast  between  the  feeling  that  sprang  from 
the  circumstance,  from  the  neighboring  objects,  and  that 
which  corresponded  with  Federico's  words,  with  that  book, 
with  the  names  of  the  characters  whom  Juliana  loved. 


THE    INTRUDER.  79 

The  time  passed  slowly  and  gently,  almost  lazily,  in  this 
diffused  and  whitish  mist  in  which  the  elms  gradually  shed 
their  flowers.  The  sound  of  the  piano  reached  us,  muffled, 
unintelligible,  rendering  the  light  more  melancholy,  cra- 
dling, so  to  speak,  the  drowsy  atmosphere. 

Absorbed,  listening  no  longer,  I  opened  the  book,  I 
turned  the  leaves  at  several  places,  and  ran  through  the  be- 
ginning of  several  pages.  I  noticed  that  there  were  several 
pages  turned  down  at  the  corners,  as  if  to  mark  them ;  on 
others,  there  were  finger-nail  marks,  the  habit  of  the 
reader.  Then  I  wished  to  read  in  turn,  curious,  almost 
anxious.  In  the  scene  between  Pierre  Besoukhow  and  the 
unknown  old  man  at  the  Torjok  post-house,  many  passages 
were  marked. 

"  Let  your  spiritual  look  fall  back  on  your  inner  being. 
Ask  yourself  if  you  are  satisfied  with  yourself.  At  what 
result  have  you  arrived,  having  but  your  intelligence  for  a 
guide  ?  You  are  young,  you  are  rich,  you  are  intelligent. 
What  have  you  done  with  all  these  gifts  ?  Are  you  satisfied 
with  yourself  and  with  your  life  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  a  horror  of  it !  " 

"  If  you  have  a  horror  of  it,  change  it,  purify  yourself. 
And,  in  measure  as  you  transform  yourself,  you  will  learn 
to  recognize  wisdom.  How  have  you  passed  your  exist- 
ence ?  In  orgies,  in  debauches,  in  depravities,  receiving 
everything  from  society  without  giving  it  anything.  What 
use  have  you  made  of  the  benefits  of  fortune  ?  What 
have  you  done  for  your  fellow-man  ?  Have  you  thought 
of  your  tens  of  thousands  of  serfs  ?  Have  you  assisted 
them  morally  or  materially  ?  No,  you  have  not.  You  have 
profited  by  their  labor  in  order  to  live  a  life  of  corruption. 
Have  you  sought  to  employ  yourself  in  the  service  of 


80  THE    INTRUDER. 

your  fellow-man  ?  No.  You  have  lived  in  indolence. 
And  then  you  married;  you  accepted  the  responsibility  of 
serving  as  a  guide  to  a  young  woman.  And  then  ?  In- 
stead of  helping  her  to  find  the  path  of  truth,  you  have 
plunged  her  into  the  abyss  of  deceit  and  of  misery.  .  .  ." 

Again  the  unbearable  load  weighed  me  down,  crushed 
me ;  and  it  was  a  more  atrocious  torture  than  that  I  had 
already  suffered,  because  Juliana's  presence  exasperated  the 
crisis.  On  the  leaf,  the  passage  transcribed  was  marked  by 
a  single  pencil  stroke.  Without  any  doubt,  Juliana  had 
marked  it,  thinking  of  me,  of  my  misconduct.  But  the 
last  line  ?  To  whom  did  that  refer  ?  To  me  ?  To  us  ? 

Had  I  thrown  her,  had  she  fallen  "  into  the  abyss  of 
deceit  and  misery  "  ? 

I  feared  that  she  and  Federico  would  hear  the  beating 
of  my  heart. 

There  was  another  page  turned  down,  with  a  very  pro- 
nounced mark — that  on  the  death  of  the  Princess  Lisa. 

"  The  eyes  of  the  dead  woman  were  closed;  but  her 
small  face  had  not  changed,  and  she  seemed  constantly 
saying  :  '  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  '  Prince  Andre  did 
not  weep ;  but  he  felt  his  heart  break  as  he  thought  that  he 
was  guilty  of  wrongs  henceforth  irreparable  and  unforget- 
table. The  old  prince  came  also,  and  kissed  one  of  the  frail 
waxen  hands  that  lay  crossed  over  one  another.  And  one 
would  have  thought  that  the  poor,  small  face  was  again 
repeating  to  him  :  '  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  '  ' 

That  gentle  yet  terrible  question  pierced  me  like  a  dag- 
ger. "  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  "  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed 
on  the  page,  not  daring  to  make  a  movement,  to  look  at 


THE    INTRUDER.  8l 

Juliana,  yet  agonized  by  a  desire  to  do  so;  and  I  feared 
that  both  she  and  Federico  might  hear  my  heart-beats, 
that  they  might  turn  toward  me  to  look  at  me  and  that  they 
would  discover  my  agitation.  My  agitation  was  so  great 
that  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  face  was  distorted,  that  I 
was  incapable  of  rising,  incapable  of  uttering  a  single  syl- 
lable. I  threw  a  single  rapid,  stealthy  glance  at  Juliana, 
and  her  profile  impressed  itself  on  me  so  strongly  that  I 
seemed  to  continue  to  see  her  before  me  on  the  page, 
beside  the  "poor,  small  face"  of  the  dead  princess.  It 
was  a  pensive  profile,  rendered  graver  by  attention,  shaded 
by  long  lashes;  and  the  lips,  tightly  closed,  somewhat  de- 
pressed at  the  corners,  appeared  as  if  involuntarily  confess- 
ing a  feeling  of  fatigue  and  great  sadness.  She  was  listen- 
ing to  my  brother.  And  my  brother's  voice  resounded 
confusedly  in  my  ears,  seemed  to  me  far  off,  although  he  was 
quite  close.  And  all  these  flowers  shed  by  the  elms,  that 
rained,  rained  ceaselessly,  all  these  dead  flowers,  almost 
unreal,  almost  bereft  of  being,  induced  in  me  an  inexpres- 
sible sensation,  as  if  that  psychic  vision  were  transformed 
in  me  into  strange  internal  phenomena,  as  if  I  had  been 
present  at  the  continuous  passage  of  these  thousands  of  im- 
palpable shadows  in  an  inner  sky,  at  the  bottom  of  my  soul. 
"  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  "  repeated  the  voice  of  the 
dead  and  the  living,  both  the  one  and  the  other  without 
moving  their  lips.  "  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  reading,  Tullio  ?  "  asked  Juliana,  turning 
and  taking  from  my  hands  the  book,  which  she  closed  and 
replaced  on  her  knees  with  a  sort  of  nervous  impatience. 

And  immediately,  without  pause,  as  if  to  remove  all  sig- 
nificance from  her  action,  she  added  : 

"  Why  do  we  not  rejoin  Miss  Edith  and  have  a  little 
music  ?  Do  you  hear  her  ?  She  is  playing,  I  think,  the 
6 


82  THE    INTRUDER. 

Funeral  March  for  the  Death  of  a  Hero,  which  you  are  so 
fond  of,  Federico.  .  .  ." 

She  listened.  We  all  three  listened.  We  heard  several 
chords  in  the  silence.  She  was  not  mistaken.  Rising,  she 
added : 

"Well,  come.     Will  you?" 

I  rose  last,  so  to  have  her  before  me.  She  did  not  take 
the  trouble  to  shake  from  her  dress  the  elm  flowers  that  had 
formed  a  soft  carpet  on  the  ground  all  around. 

She  stood  still  a  minute,  her  head  bent,  regarding  the 
layer  of  flowers  which  she  hollowed  out  and  piled  up  with 
the  slender  tip  of  her  shoe,  while  on  her,  other  flowers, 
and  still  other  flowers,  continued  to  rain,  to  rain  ceaselessly. 
I  could  see  nothing  of  her  face.  Was  she  really  so  atten- 
tive to  that  trifling  action  ?  Or  was  she  not  rather  absorbed 
in  perplexity  ? 


V. 


THE  following  morning,  among  those  who  brought  Easter 
offerings  to  the  Badiola,  came  Calisto,  old  Calisto,  the 
keeper  at  the  Lilacs,  with  an  enormous  bouquet  of  fresh 
and  odorous  lilacs.  He  wanted  to  offer  them  to  Juliana 
with  his  own  hands,  recalling  to  her  the  happy  time  of  our 
stay  there,  and  begging  for  another  visit,  a  short  visit. 
"  Signora  had  seemed  so  gay,  so  happy  over  there.  Why 
did  she  not  return  ?  The  house  had  remained  intact; 
nothing  had  been  changed.  The  garden  was  now  more 
filled.  The  lilac-trees,  a  veritable  forest,  were  in  full 
bloom.  Did  not  their  perfume  reach  as  far  as  the  Badiola, 
toward  evening  ?  Really,  the  garden  and  the  house 
expected  a  visit.  Beneath  the  roof  all  the  old  nests  were 
full  of  swallows.  In  deference  to  Signora' s  wish,  these 
nests  had  been  respected  as  if  sacred.  But,  assuredly, 
there  were  too  many  now.  Every  week  they  were  obliged 
to  clean  up  the  balconies  and  window-sills  with  a  shovel. 
And  what  a  warbling,  from  morning  till  night !  When  will 
Signora  decide  to  come  ?  Soon  ?  " 

"  Shall  we  go  there  on  Tuesday  ?  "  I  asked  Juliana. 

After  a  slight  hesitation,  sustaining  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  the  heavy  care  that  bowed  her  head,  she  answered  : 

"  We'll  go  on  Tuesday,  if  you  wish." 

"  Very  well.  Tuesday,  then,  Calisto,"  I  said  to  the  old 
man,  in  such  a  happy  tone  that  I  was  surprised  at  it  myself, 
so  sudden  and  spontaneous  had  been  the  rapture  of  my 


84  THE    INTRUDER. 

soul.  "  Expect  us  Tuesday  morning.  We  will  bring  our 
lunch.  Make  no  preparations.  Do  you  understand  ? 
Let  the  house  remain  closed.  I  wish  to  open  the  door 
myself,  and  to  open  the  windows  myself,  one  after  the 
other.  Do  you  understand  ?  ' ' 

A  strange  happiness,  without  a  single  cloud,  agitated  me, 
urged  me  on  to  puerile  actions  and  puerile  and  almost  fool- 
ish remarks,  that  I  could  hardly  restrain.  I  should  have 
liked  to  embrace  Calisto,  to  stroke  his  fine,  white  beard, 
take  him  in  my  arms,  speak  to  him  of  the  Lilacs,  of  the 
past,  of  the  "  good  old  time,"  in  a  prolixity  of  words, 
under  the  grand  Easter  sun. 

11  Once  more  I  see  before  me  a  simple,  sincere  man,  a 
faithful  heart,"  I  thought,  regarding  him.  And  once  more 
I  felt  security,  as  if  the  affection  of  this  old  man  were  for 
me  a  second  talisman  against  the  blows  of  fate. 

Once  more,  since  the  close  of  the  preceding  evening,  my 
soul  expanded,  stimulated  by  the  abundance  of  joy  that 
impregnated  the  atmosphere,  that  emanated  from  every 
being.  That  morning,  one  would  have  thought  that  the 
Badiola  was  the  shrine  of  a  pilgrimage.  Not  one  peasant 
failed  to  bring  his  offering  and  well-wishes.  My  mother 
received  upon  her  blessed  hands  a  thousand  kisses  of  men, 
women,  and  children.  At  the  mass  that  was  celebrated  in 
the  chapel  a  dense  crowd  was  present.  It  overflowed  the 
porch  and  spread  over  the  lawn,  full  of  religious  zeal  beneath 
the  azure  vault.  The  silver  bells  rang  merrily  in  the  still 
air  with  joyous,  almost  melodic  harmony.  On  the  tower,  the 
inscription  on  the  sundial  said  :  Horn  est  benefadendi.  And 
on  this  glorious  morning,  on  which  one  felt,  so  to  speak,  all 
the  gratitude  due  to  long  kindness  mounting  toward  the 
sweet  maternal  house,  these  three  words  seemed  like  a 
chant. 


THE    INTRUDER.  85 

How  then  could  I  retain  my  perfidious  doubt,  suspicions, 
troubled  recollections  ?  What  could  I  have  to  fear  after 
having  seen  my  mother  press  her  lips  on  Juliana's  smiling 
brow,  after  having  seen  my  brother  press  in  his  noble  and 
loyal  hand  the  delicate  and  pale  hand  of  her  who  was  for 
him  a  second  incarnation  of  Constance. 


VI. 


THE  thought  of  the  excursion  to  the  Lilacs  occupied  me 
all  that  day  and  again  the  day  following,  without  interrup- 
tion. Never,  I  think,  had  the  longing  for  the  hour  agreed 
upon  for  a  first  rendezvous  filled  me  with  such  ardent  impa- 
tience. 

The  disturbance  of  the  senses  contributed  also  to  en- 
shroud and  dull  my  conscience.  I  wanted  to  reconquer 
Juliana  body  and  soul.  The  name  of  the  Lilacs  reawakened 
in  me  memories,  recollections,  not  only  of  a  sweet  idyll, 
but  also  of  ardent  passion.  Without  being  aware  of  it, 
I  had  perhaps  sharpened  my  longing  by  the  inevitable 
images  that  suspicion  engenders ;  it  was  a  latent  poison 
that  I  bore  in  me.  Up  to  then,  in  fact,  it  had  seemed  to 
me  that  my  dominant  emotion  was  entirely  spiritual,  and, 
in  the  expectation  of  the  great  day,  I  had  taken  delight  in 
imagining  the  conversation  that  I  would  hold  with  the 
woman  whose  pardon  I  wished  to  obtain.  Now,  on  the  con- 
trary, what  I  saw,  was  less  the  pathetic  scene  that  would 
take  place  between  us  than  the  scene  that  must  be  the  imme- 
diate consequence.  Gradually,  by  a  rapid  and  irresistible 
elimination,  a  single  image  excluded  all  the  others,  invaded 
me,  mastered  me,  became  fixed,  clear,  precise  in  the  smallest 
particulars.  "  It  is  after  lunch.  A  small  glass  of  Chablis 
has  sufficed  to  disturb  Juliana,  who  does  not  drink  wine,  so 
to  speak.  The  afternoon  becomes  warmer  and  warmer ;  the 
odor  of  the  roses,  of  the  corn-flag,  of  the  lilacs,  become 


THE    INTRUDER.  87 

violent ;  the  swallows  pass  and  repass  with  a  deafening 
twittering.  We  are  alone,  both  invaded  by  an  unbearable 
internal  tremor.  And,  suddenly,  I  say  to  her :  '  Shall  we 
go  and  look  at  our  old  room  ? '  It  is  the  old  nuptial 
chamber,  that  intentionally  I  had  omitted  to  open  during 
our  first  walk  through  the  villa.  We  enter.  There  is  a  low 
humming  noticeable,  the  same  humming  that  one  thinks 
one  hears  in  the  deep  folds  of  certain  shells ;  but  it  is  only 
the  murmur  of  my  arteries.  She  also,  no  doubt,  hears  this 
humming;  but  it  is  only  the  murmur  of  her  arteries.  All 
around  is  silent ;  one  would  think  that  the  swallows  have 
ceased  warbling.  I  want  to  speak,  and,  at  my  first  word, 
that  sticks  in  my  throat,  she  falls  into  my  arms,  almost 
fainting." 

This  imaginary  picture  became  ceaselessly  more  and  more 
embellished,  grew  complicated,  simulated  the  reality, 
attained  an  incredible  actuality.  I  could  not  succeed  in 
preventing  its  absolute  empire  over  my  mind.  One  would 
have  said  that  there  was  reborn  in  me  the  old-time  libertine, 
so  keen  was  my  pleasure  in  contemplating  and  caressing 
the  vision.  The  kind  of  life  I  had  led  for  several  weeks, 
in  this  warm  springtime,  produced  its  effect  on  my  regen- 
erated organism.  Simple  physiological  phenomena  com- 
pletely modified  the  state  of  my  conscience,  gave  an 
entirely  different  turn  to  my  thoughts,  made  of  me  another 
man. 

Maria  and  Natalia  had  expressed  a  desire  to  accompany 
us  on  this  excursion.  Juliana  wanted  them  to  come,  but  I 
objected,  and  I  used  all  my  skill,  every  persuasion,  to 
accomplish  my  purpose. 

Federico  had  made  this  proposition :  "I  must  go  to 
Casal  Caldore  on  Tuesday.  I  will  accompany  you  in  the 
carriage  as  far  as  the  Lilacs,  where  you  will  stop,  and  I 


88  THE    INTRUDER. 

will  continue  on  my  way.  Then,  in  the  evening,  I  will  call 
for  you  again  with  the  carriage,  and  we  will  return  together 
to  the  Badiola."  Juliana  consented,  in  my  presence. 

I  reflected  that  Federico's  company,  at  least  in  going, 
would  not  inconvenience  us ;  on  the  contrary,  it  would  even 
spare  me  a  certain  embarrassment.  In  fact,  what  could 
we  have  spoken  about,  Juliana  and  I,  had  we  been  alone 
during  the  two  or  three  hours  the  ride  lasted  ?  What  atti- 
tude could  I  have  taken  toward  her  ?  Who  knows  even  if  I 
should  not  have  spoiled  the  situation,  compromised  its  suc- 
cess, or,  at  least,  removed  the  freshness  from  our  emotion  ? 
Was  it  not  my  dream  to  find  myself  again  suddenly  with 
her  at  the  Lilacs,  as  if  by  magic,  and  there  to  speak  to  her 
my  first  word  of  tenderness  and  submission  ?  The  presence 
of  Federico  furnished  the  advantage  of  avoiding  uncertain 
preliminaries,  long  and  painful  silences,  sentences  spoken 
in  low  tones  on  account  of  the  coachman's  ears;  in  a  word, 
all  the  little  irritations  and  tortures.  We  would  get  down 
at  the  Lilacs,  and  then,  then  only,  we  should  find  ourselves 
by  each  other's  side  at  the  gate  of  the  lost  paradise. 


VII. 


THIS  is  what  took  place.  I  cannot  find  words  to  describe 
the  sensation  I  felt  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  the  bells 
and  the  noise  of  the  carriage  which  bore  Federico  away  in 
the  direction  of  Casal  Caldore.  I  said  to  Calisto,  as  I 
took  the  keys  from  his  hands  with  manifest  impatience  : 

"  Now,  you  may  go.     I  will  call  you  later." 

And  I  myself  closed  the  gate  behind  the  old  man,  who 
seemed  rather  surprised  and  dissatisfied  at  so  unceremoni- 
ous a  dismissal. 

"At  last,  we're  here!"  I  cried,  directly  I  was  alone 
with  Juliana.  And  the  entire  wave  of  happiness  that  had 
invaded  me  passed  into  my  voice. 

I  was  happy,  happy,  unspeakably  happy ;  I  was  as  if  fas- 
cinated by  an  immense  hallucination  of  unexpected,  un- 
hoped for  happiness,  that  transfigured  all  my  being,  reawoke 
and  multiplied  all  that  there  was  still  good  and  youthful  in 
me,  isolated  me  from  the  world,  instantly  concentrated  my 
life  within  the  circuit  of  the  walls  enclosed  by  that  garden. 
Words  sprang  to  my  lips  without  connection,  inexpressible ; 
my  reason  wandered  in  a  blazing  flash  of  thoughts. 

How  was  it  that  Juliana  had  not  guessed  what  was  pass- 
ing in  me  ?  How  was  it  she  had  not  understood  me  ? 
How  was  it  that  her  heart  had  not  received  the  counter- 
shock  of  my  impetuous  joy  ? 

We  looked  at  each  other.  I  can  still  see  the  anxious 
expression  of  her  face,  over  which  hovered  an  indefinable 


90  THE    INTRUDER. 

smile.  She  spoke  in  that  muffled,  feeble  voice,  always 
hesitating  with  the  singular  hesitation  that  I  had  already 
remarked  in  other  circumstances  and  that  made  her  appear 
to  be  ceaselessly  preoccupied  in  restraining  the  words  that 
mounted  to  her  lips  in  order  to  substitute  for  them  other 
words.  She  said : 

' '  Let  us  take  a  walk  round  the  garden  before  opening  the 
house.  How  long  it  is  since  I  have  seen  it  in  such  flower. 
The  last  time  we  were  here  was  three  years  ago,  do  you 
remember  ?  It  was  also  in  April,  during  Easter  week." 

Without  doubt  she  wished  to  overcome  her  agitation,  but 
she  could  not  succeed ;  without  doubt  she  wished  to  repress 
the  effusion  of  her  tenderness,  but  she  could  not.  In  this 
place,  the  first  words  issued  from  her  own  mouth  had  begun 
to  evoke  memories.  After  a  few  steps  she  stopped,  and 
we  looked  at  each  other.  An  indefinable  change,  as  if  she 
were  forcing  herself  to  stifle  something,  passed  through  her 
dark  eyes. 

"Juliana!"  I  cried,  incapable  of  controlling  myself, 
feeling  an  afflux  of  passionate  and  tender  words  spring  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart,  seized  by  a  mad  frenzy  to  kneel 
before  her  on  the  sand,  to  embrace  her  knees,  to  kiss  her 
dress,  her  hands,  her  wrists,  furiously,  ceaselessly. 

With  a  supplicating  gesture,  she  made  a  motion  for  me 
to  be  quiet.  And  she  continued  to  advance  along  the  path, 
hastening  her  steps. 

She  wore  a  light-gray  dress  trimmed  with  darker  shades, 
a  gray  felt  hat,  and  carried  a  gray-silk  parasol  embroidered 
with  white  trefoils.  I  still  see  her  walking  between  the 
tufted  masses  of  lilacs  that  bent  toward  her  their  thousands 
of  bluish-violet  bunches. 

It  was  hardly  eleven  o'clock.  The  morning  was  warm, 
a  precocious  warmth ;  in  the  azure  floated  a  number  of 


THE    INTRUDER.  91 

flocculent  vapors.  The  charming  bushes  that  had  given 
their  name  to  this  country-house  blossomed  on  every  side, 
were  masters  of  the  garden,  formed  a  wood,  interspersed 
here  and  there  by  tea-rose  bushes  and  by  the  tufts  of  the  corn- 
flag.  Here  and  there  the  roses  climbed  up  stalks,  insinuated 
themselves  between  the  branches,  fell  back  again  in  chains, 
in  garlands,  festoons,  bouquets ;  at  the  foot  of  the  stalks, 
Florentine  orris  sprang  from  between  their  leaves,  like  long, 
greenish  swords,  flowers  of  large  and  noble  design.  The 
three  perfumes  harmonized  in  a  deep  accord  that  I  recog- 
nized, because,  since  the  now  distant  epoch,  these  had 
remained  in  my  memory  as  clearly  as  the  accord  of  three 
musical  notes.  In  the  silence  only  the  warbling  of  the 
swallows  could  be  heard.  The  house  could  scarcely  be  seen 
between  the  cones  of  the  cypresses,  and  the  swallows  were 
as  numerous  there  as  bees  around  a  hive. 

Very  soon  Juliana  slowed  down  her  pace.  I  walked  at  her 
side,  so  near  that  at  times  our  elbows  touched.  She  glanced 
attentively  around  her,  as  if  she  feared  something  might 
escape  her.  Two  or  three  times  I  detected  on  her  lips  a 
movement  as  if  she  were  about  to  speak :  it  was  like  the 
first  outline  of  a  word  that  remained  unpronounced. 

I  said  to  her,  in  a  low  voice  and  timidly : 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  that  we  should  never  have  left  here." 

"  You  are  right,  Juliana." 

At  times  the  swallows  almost  brushed  against  us,  with 
a  cry,  rapid  and  glistening  like  winged  arrows. 

"  How  much  I  have  longed  for  this  day,  Juliana  !  Ah  ! 
you  will  never  know  how  much  I  have  longed  for  it !  "  I 
cried,  prey  to  an  emotion  so  strong  that  my  voice  became 
almost  unrecognizable.  "  Never,  do  you  understand,  never 
have  I  felt  an  anxiety  equal  to  that  which  devours  me  since 


92  THE    INTRUDER. 

the  day  before  yesterday,  since  the  moment  you  consented 
to  come  here.  Do  you  remember  the  day  when,  for  the  first 
time,  we  saw  each  other  in  secret,  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa 
Oggeri,  where  we  kissed  each  other  ?  I  was  mad  with 
love  for  you,  do  you  remember  ?  Well,  the  expectation 
of  the  last  night  was  nothing  in  comparison.  You  do  not 
believe  me,  and  you  are  right  in  misbelieving  me,  in  doubt- 
ing me.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  all,  to  recount  my  sufferings, 
my  fears,  my  hope.  Oh  !  I  know,  my  sufferings  are  doubt- 
less little  in  comparison  with  those  that  I  have  made  you 
suffer.  I  know,  I  know ;  all  my  pains  are  not  equal  to  your 
pains,  not  worth  your  tears.  I  have  not  expiated  my  fault, 
and  I  am  not  worthy  of  pardon.  But  tell  me,  tell  me  that 
I  may  hope  that  you  will  pardon  me.  You  do  not  believe 
me;  but  I  wish  to  tell  you  all.  It  is  you,  you  only  whom 
I  have  truly  loved;  it  is  you  alone  whom  I  love.  I  know, 
I  know;  men  will  say  these  things  in  order  to  obtain  par- 
don, and  you  are  right  not  to  believe  me.  Yet  see ;  if  you 
think  of  our  love  of  long  ago,  if  you  think  of  our  first 
three  years  of  never-failing  tenderness,  if  you  remember,  if 
you  recollect,  you  will  see  it  is  impossible  to  refuse  to 
believe  me.  Even  in  my  lowest  abasements,  you  were  to 
be  for  me  unforgettable ;  and  my  soul  ever  longed  to  turn 
toward  you,  to  seek  you,  to  regret  you,  always,  do  you  un- 
derstand ?  Always.  Did  you  not  perceive  it  yourself  ? 
When  you  were  as  a  sister  to  me,  did  you  not  sometimes 
perceive  that  I  was  dying  of  sorrow  ?  I  swear  to  you  that, 
far  away  from  you,  I  never  felt  sincere  joy.  I  have  never 
had  one  hour  of  complete  forgetfulness.  Never,  never ;  I 
swear  it.  You  were  my  constant,  profound,  secret  adora- 
tion. The  better  part  of  myself  has  always  been  yours, 
and  there  has  been  in  me  a  hope  that  has  never  been 
extinguished — that  of  being  able  to  free  myself  from  my 


THE   INTRUDER.  93 

malady  and  to  find  intact  my  first,  my  only  love.  .  . 
Ah  !  Juliana,  tell  me  that  I  have  not  hoped  in  vain  !  " 

She  walked  with  extreme  slowness,  no  longer  looking  be- 
fore her,  her  head  bent,  excessively  pale.  A  slight,  painful 
contraction  appeared  at  times  at  the  comer  of  her  mouth. 
And,  because  she  remained  silent,  I  began  to  feel  a  vague 
uneasiness  arise  within  me.  An  oppressive  feeling  began  to 
be  caused  by  the  sun,  the  flowers,  the  cries  of  the  swallows, 
by  all  the  joyfulness  displayed  by  triumphant  springtime. 

"  You  do  not  answer  me  ?  "  I  continued,  taking  the  hand 
that  she  let  hang  by  her  side.  "  You  do  not  believe  me ; 
you  have  lost  all  confidence  in  me ;  you  still  fear  that  I 
deceive  you ;  you  do  not  dare  to  give  yourself  up  again  be- 
cause you  are  always  thinking  of  the  last  time.  .  .  .  Yes, 
it  is  true,  that  was  the  most  brutal  of  all  my  infamies.  I 
repent  it  as  I  would  a  crime,  and,  even  if  you  should  pardon 
me,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  forgive  myself.  But  did  you 
not  notice  that  I  was  ailing,  that  I  was  losing  my  reason? 
A  curse  pursued  me,  and,  since  that  day,  I  have  not  had 
one  minute's  respite,  I  have  not  had  a  single  lucid  interval. 
Do  you  not  remember  ?  Do  you  not  remember  ?  Surely 
you  knew  I  was  beside  myself,  in  a  state  of  madness ;  for 
you  looked  at  me  as  one  does  upon  a  madman.  How  often 
have  I  surprised  in  your  glances  sad  compassion,  curiosity, 
fear  !  Do  you  -not  remember  what  I  had  become  ?  I  was 
unrecognizable.  Well,  I  am  cured ;  I  saved  myself  for  your 
sake.  I  have  succeeded  in  opening  my  eyes,  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in  seeing  the  light.  At  last  it  is  light.  It  is  you, 
you  only  whom  I  have  truly  loved  all  my  life,  it  is  you  only 
whom  I  love.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

I  pronounced  the  last  words  in  a  firmer  voice,  and  more 
slowly,  as  if  to  impress  them  one  by  one  upon  this  woman's 
soul,  and  I  pressed  firmly  her  hand,  which  I  already  held  in 


94  THE   INTRUDER. 

my  own.  She  stopped  with  the  manner  of  one  about  to 
collapse,  gasping.  Later,  only  later,  during  the  hours  that 
followed,  I  understood  the  excess  of  mortal  anguish  exhaled 
by  this  panting.  But,  at  that  moment,  I  understood  only 
this  :  "  The  recollection  of  my  horrible  treason,  evoked  by 
me,  revives  her  suffering.  I  have  touched  wounds  that  are 
still  open.  Ah  !  if  I  could  persuade  her  to  believe  me  ! 
If  I  could  conquer  her  distrust !  Does  not  my  voice  con- 
vince her  that  I  am  speaking  the  truth  ?  ' ' 

We  had  come  to  the  intersection  of  two  paths.  There 
was  a  bench  there.  She  murmured  : 

"  Let  us  sit  down  a  little." 

We  sat  down.  I  do  not  know  if  she  recognized  the  spot. 
Even  I  did  not  recognize  it  at  first,  bewildered  like  a 
man  who  has  had  both  his  eyes  bandaged  for  some  time. 
We  both  looked  about  us,  then  we  looked  at  one  another, 
and  in  our  eyes  we  had  the  same  thought.  A  crowd  of 
tender  recollections  were  connected  with  this  old  stone 
bench.  My  heart  swelled,  not  with  regret,  but  with  a  rest- 
less covetousness,  with  a  sort  of  frenzy  of  living  that,  in  a 
flash,  gave  me  a  chimerical,  dazzling  vision  of  the  future. 
"  Ah  !  she  is  ignorant  of  what  new  tenderness  I  am  ca- 
pable !  In  my  soul  there  is  a  paradise  for  her."  And  the 
flaming  up  of  that  ideal  of  love  was  so  strong  that  I  became 
exalted. 

"  Are  you  sad  ?  But  what  creature  in  all  the  world  was 
ever  loved  as  I  love  you  ?  To  what  woman  has  it  been  given 
to  obtain  a  proof  of  love  equal  to  that  I  give  you  ?  You 
said  just  now  :  '  We  should  never  have  left  here.'  Without 
doubt,  we  should  have  been  happy :  you  would  not  have 
suffered  a  martyrdom,  you  would  not  have  shed  so  many 
tears,  you  would  not  have  lost  so  many  years  of  your  life ; 
but  you  would  not  have  known  my  love,  all  my  love." 


THE    INTRUDER.  95 

Her  head  was  bent  on  her  bosom,  her  eyes  half-closed, 
and  she  listened,  motionless.  Her  eyelashes  threw  on  the 
upper  part  of  her  cheeks  a  shadow  that  disturbed  me  more 
than  a  look  would  have  done. 

"  And  I  myself  would  have  had  no  knowledge  of  my 
lo\e.  Did  I  not  believe  the  first  time  I  left  you  that  all 
was  at  an  end  ?  I  sought  another  passion,  another  fever, 
another  intoxication;  I  wished  to  embrace  life  in  one  single 
clasp.  You  did  not  suffice  me.  And  during  all  those 
years  I  weakened  myself  by  an  atrocious  life,  oh !  so 
atrocious  that  I  have  a  horror  of  it,  as  a  convict  has  a  hor- 
ror of  the  prison  in  which  he  has  lived,  dying  a  little  every 
day.  And  I  had  to  wander  from  darkness  into  darkness, 
before  light  fell  on  my  soul,  before  this  great  truth  appeared 
to  me.  I  have  loved  only  one  woman,  and  you  are  she. 
You  alone,  in  all  the  world,  are  good  and  gentle ;  and  you 
are  the  best  and  most  gentle  creature  I  have  ever  dreamed 
of;  you  are  the  Unique.  And  you  were  in  my  house,  while 
I  sought  you  afar  off.  Do  you  understand,  now  ?  Do  you 
understand  ?  You  were  in  my  house,  while  I  sought  you  afar 
off.  Ah,  tell  me,  is  not  this  confession  worth  all  your 
tears  ?  Do  you  not  wish  you  had  shed  more,  much  more, 
in  order  to  purchase  this  certitude  ?  " 

"  Yes,  still  more,"  she  said,  so  low  that  I  scarcely  heard 
her. 

The  words  passed  like  a  breath  from  her  pallid  lips. 
And  the  tears  gushed  from  between  her  eyelashes,  rolled 
down  her  cheeks,  wetted  the  convulsed  mouth,  fell  on  that 
palpitating  bosom. 

"Juliana,  my  love!  Oh,  my  love  !"  I  cried,  with  a 
thrill  of  supreme  felicity,  throwing  myself  on  my  knees 
before  her. 

And  I  threw  my  arms  around  her,  I  laid  my  head  on  her 


96  THE    INTRUDER. 

bosom,  I  felt  again  in  all  my  being  that  frenetic  tension 
in  which  ends  useless  effort  to  express  by  an  action,  by  a 
gesture,  by  a  caress,  the  inexpressible  internal  passion. 
Her  tears  fell  on  my  cheek.  If  the  material  effect  of 
these  warm  life-drops  had  equalled  the  sensations  that  I 
received  from  them,  I  should  carry  an  indelible  mark  on 
my  skin. 

"  Oh  !  let  me  drink,"  I  begged. 

Raising  myself,  I  placed  my  lips  to  her  eyelids  and  I 
bathed  them  with  her  tears,  while  my  hands  lavished  on 
her  distracted  caresses.  My  limbs  had  acquired  an  extra- 
ordinary flexibility,  a  sort  of  illusory  fluidity  that  prevented 
me  from  noticing  the  obstacle  presented  by  the  clothes.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  the  power  to  enclose  and  envelop 
the  entire  person  of  the  loved  one. 

"  Did  you  dream,"  I  said,  with  the  saline  savor  in  my 
mouth  that  impregnated  me  to  the  heart  (later,  during  the 
hours  that  followed,  I  was  astonished  at  not  having  found  an 
intolerable  bitterness  in  these  tears),  "  did  you  dream  you 
would  be  loved  so  much  ?  Did  you  dream  of  such  happi- 
ness ?  It  is  I,  look,  it  is  I  who  speak  to  you  like  this ; 
look  well :  it  is  I.  If  you  knew  how  strange  that  seems  to 
me  !  If  I  could  tell  you  !  I  know  that  I  do  not  know  you 
from  to-day,  I  know  I  do  not  love  you  from  to-day,  I  know 
that  you  are  what  you  have  always  been.  And  yet  it  seems 
to  me  that  I  only  just  found  you  a  moment  ago,  when  you 
said  :  '  Yes,  still  more.'  You  said  it,  did  you  not  ?  Only 
three  words — a  breath.  And  I  am  reborn,  and  you  are 
reborn,  and  we  will  be  happy,  happy  forever." 

I  told  her  these  things  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come 
from  a  distance,  broken,  indefinable ;  in  one  of  those 
tones  whose  intonations  seem  to  rise  to  our  lips,  not  from 
our  material  organs,  but  from  the  deepest  depths  of  our 


THE    INTRUDER.  97 

soul.     And  she,  who  up  to  then  had  shed  silent  tears,  burst 
into  sobs. 

Violent,  too  violent  were  her  sobs ;  not  as  when  one  suc- 
cumbs to  a  limitless  joy,  but  when  one  gives  vent  to  incon- 
solable despair.  She  sobbed  so  violently  that,  for  several 
seconds,  I  was  seized  by  the  stupor  caused  by  excessive  man- 
ifestations, supreme  paroxysms  of  human  emotions.  Un- 
consciously I  drew  back  a  little ;  but,  immediately,  I  noticed 
the  distance  that  now  separated  us ;  I  at  once  noticed  not 
only  that  there  was  no  longer  a  physical  contact,  but  also 
that  the  sensation  of  moral  communion  had  become  dissi- 
pated in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  We  were  still  two  beings, 
distinct,  separate,  external  to  one  another.  The  very  differ- 
ence of  our  attitudes  even  accentuated  this  disunion.  Sit- 
ting back  at  her  end  of  the  bench  and  covering  her  face 
with  her  two  hands,  she  sobbed ;  and  every  one  of  her  sobs 
shook  her  entire  being,  put  in  evidence  her  fragility,  so  to 
speak.  Without  touching  her,  I  was  again  on  my  knees 
before  her ;  and  I  looked  at  her,  stupefied,  and  yet  strangely 
lucid,  attentive  to  all  that  was  passing  within  me,  and  yet 
with  every  sense  open  to  the  perception  of  surrounding 
objects.  I  heard  both  her  sobs  and  the  twittering  of  the 
swallows;  I  had  an  exact  notion  of  time  and  place.  And 
those  flowers,  and  those  perfumes,  and  the  surrounding 
glory  of  the  joyous  springtime  inspired  me  with  a  fright 
that  grew  and  grew,  becoming  a  sort  of  panicky  terror,  an 
instinctive  and  blind  terror  against  which  reason  was 
powerless.  And,  like  a  thunderbolt  that  lights  up  a  bank 
of  clouds,  one  thought  flashed  out  from  the  midst  of  this 
tumultuous  fear,  illuminated  me,  struck  me  to  the  heart : 
"  She  is  impure  !  " 

Ah  !  why  did  I  not  fall  then,  struck  dead  by  the  blow  ? 
Why  did  not  one  of  my  vital  organs  collapse  ?    Why  did 
7 


98  THE    INTRUDER. 

I  not  expire  at  the  feet  of  the  woman  who,  in  a  few  short 
moments,  had  raised  me  to  the  height  of  happiness,  only  to 
precipitate  me  into  an  abyss  of  misery  ? 

"  Answer !  " 

I  seized  her  wrists,  I  uncovered  her  face,  I  spoke  close  to 
her ;  and  my  voice  was  so  low  that  I  scarcely  heard  it  my- 
self in  the  tumult  of  my  brain. 

"  Answer  !     What  do  these  tears  signify  ?  " 

She  ceased  to  sob,  and  looked  at  me ;  and  her  eyes, 
reddened  by  the  tears,  became  dilated  with  an  expression 
of  supreme  anguish,  as  if  they  had  seen  me  dying.  In 
fact,  my  face  must  have  seemed  lifeless. 

"  //  is  too  late,  perhaps  ?  Is  it  too  late  ?  "  I  added,  reveal- 
ing my  terrible  thought  by  this  obscure  question. 

"  No,  no,  Tullio  !  No — it  is — nothing.  What  could  you 
have  thought?  No,  no.  I  am  so  weak,  you  see.  I  am  no 
longer  what  I  was  formerly.  I  have  no  strength.  I  am 
ill,  you  know;  I  am  so  ill  !  I  have  not  had  the  force  to 
resist  your  words.  You  understand.  This  crisis  has  come 
to  me  so  unexpectedly.  It  is  my  nervousness — a  sort  of 
convulsion.  When  one  has  a  spasm  like  this,  one  cannot  dis- 
tinguish whether  it  is  from  joy  or  sorrow.  Oh  !  my  God  ! 
See,  it  is  passing.  Rise,  Tullio;  come  here,  by  my  side." 

She  spoke  to  me  in  a  voice  still  choked  by  tears,  still 
broken  with  sobs ;  she  looked  at  me  with  an  expression 
that  was  well  known  to  me,  the  expression  that  she  had 
already  often  had  at  the  sight  of  my  suffering.  At  one 
time,  she  could  not  bear  to  see  me  suffer.  Her  sensibil- 
ity to  this  was  so  exaggerated  that  I  could  obtain  anything 
from  her  by  showing  her  that  I  was  sad.  She  would  have 
done  anything  to  free  me  from  pain,  even  the  slightest. 
Often  at  that  time  I  feigned  pain,  in  jest,  to  make  her  un- 
easy, so  as  to  be  consoled  like  a  child,  to  obtain  certain 


THE    INTRUDER.  99 

caresses  that  pleased  me,  to  call  forth  certain  graceful 
gestures  that  I  adored.  Was  it  not  the  same  tender  yet 
alarmed  expression  that  reappeared  now  in  her  eyes  ? 

"Come  here,  by  my  side;  sit  down.  Or  would  you 
prefer  to  continue  our  walk  in  the  garden  ?  We  have  seen 
nothing  yet.  Let  us  go  toward  the  fountain.  I  would 
like  to  bathe  my  eyes.  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ?  Of 
what  are  you  thinking  ?  Are  we  not  happy  ?  See,  I  begin 
to  feel  well  again,  very  well.  But  I  must  bathe  my  eyes, 
my  face.  What  time  is  it  ?  Noon,  perhaps  ?  Federico 
will  be  back  at  about  six  o'clock.  WTe  have  plenty  of  time. 
Will  you  come  ?  " 

She  spoke  in  a  broken  and  still  somewhat  convulsive 
voice,  and  with  a  manifest  effort,  as  if  trying  to  collect  her- 
self, to  regain  command  of  her  nervousness,  to  dissipate  in 
me  the  shadow  of  an  apprehension,  to  appear  to  me  con- 
fiding and  happy.  The  smile  that  trembled  in  her  still 
humid  and  somewhat  reddened  eyes  had  a  troubled  gentle- 
ness that  awakened  my  sympathy.  I  felt  in  her  words,  in 
her  attitude,  in  all  her  person  that  gentleness  that  softened 
me,  that  made  me  languish  with  a  half-sensual  languor.  It 
is  impossible  for  me  to  define  the  delicate  seduction  that, 
emanating  from  this  creature,  insinuated  itself  in  my  senses 
and  in  my  mind,  favored  by  the  indefinable  and  confused 
state  of  my  soul.  She  seemed  to  be  silently  saying  to  me  : 
"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  be  more  adorable.  Take  me, 
then,  since  you  love  me ;  take  me  in  your  arms,  but  carefully, 
without  hurting  me,  without  clasping  me  too  hard.  Oh  ! 
I  burn  with  desire  to  receive  your  caresses  !  But  I  believe 
they  would  kill  me."  This  thought  aided  me  a  little  to 
counteract  the  effect  her  smile  produced  upon  me. 

I  looked  at  her  mouth  at  the  moment  she  asked  me : 
"  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that  ?  "  and  at  the  moment 


100  THE    INTRUDER. 

when  she  asked  :  "  Are  we  not  happy  ?  "  I  felt  the  blind 
desire  of  an  awakened  sensation  in  which  died  away  the  un- 
easy feeling  which  my  recent  passion  had  left  in  me.  When 
she  arose,  I  seized  her  impetuously  in  my  arms,  and  fas- 
tened my  lips  to  hers. 

It  was  a  lover's  kiss  that  I  gave  her,  a  kiss  long  and  deep, 
that  stirred  all  the  essence  of  our  two  beings.  She  sank 
back  on  the  bench,  exhausted. 

"  Oh  !  no,  no,  Tullio ;  I  beg  of  you  !  Enough,  enough  ! 
Let  me  regain  a  little  strength,"  she  begged,  stretching 
her  hands  out  to  push  me  away.  "  Otherwise,  I  shall  be 
unable  to  keep  on  my  feet.  See,  I  am  half  dead." 

But  there  had  sprung  up  in  me  extraordinary  phenomena. 
That  sensation  had  had  the  same  effect  on  my  mind  as  an 
impetuous  wave  that  sweeps  away  all  obstacles,  effaces  every 
imprint,  and  leaves  the  sand  smooth.  Everything  was  in- 
stantly levelled;  and,  suddenly,  I  found  myself  in  anew 
state  determined  by  the  immediate  influence  of  circum- 
stances, by  the  pressure  of  the  blood  which  began  to  tingle. 
I  no  longer  knew  but  one  thing.  I  had  there  before  me  the 
woman  whom  I  desired,  trembling,  overwhelmed  by  my  kiss 
— in  short,  mine  entirely ;  around  us  blossomed  a  garden, 
filled  with  memories,  filled  with  secrets;  a  deserted  house 
awaits  us  behind  the  flowering  bushes,  guarded  by  the  famil- 
iar swallows. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  carry  you  ?  " 
I  said  to  her,  seizing  her  hands,  interlacing  my  fingers  in 
hers.  "  You  used  to  be  as  light  as  a  feather.  Now  you 
must  be  still  lighter.  Let  us  try  !  " 

A  dark  shadow  passed  in  her  eyes.  For  a  second,  she 
seemed  absorbed  in  thought,  as  when  one  deliberates  and 
takes  a  rapid  resolution.  Then  she  shook  her  head,  and 
throwing  herself  back,  hanging  to  me  by  her  outstretched 


THE    INTRUDER.  IOI 

arms,  laughing  with  a  laugh  that  revealed  a  little  of  her 
bloodless  gum : 

"  Very  well  !     Lift  me,"  she  said. 

Scarcely  had  she  risen  than  she  fell  against  my  breast ; 
and  then  it  was  she  who  kissed  me  first,  with  a  sort  of  con- 
vulsive furor,  as  if  a  prey  to  a  sudden  frenzy,  as  if  she 
wished  at  one  stroke  to  appease  an  atrociously  painful 
thirst. 

"  Ah  !  It  is  killing  me  !  "  she  repeated,  when  our  lips 
had  parted. 

And  that  humid  mouth,  somewhat  projecting,  half -open, 
that  had  become  redder,  animated  by  languor,  in  that  face 
so  pale  and  frail,  really  gave  me  the  indefinable  impression 
that,  of  all  that  body  similar  to  a  corpse,  the  lips  only  were 
alive. 

She  murmured,  dreamily,  raising  her  closed  eyes,  the 
long  lashes  of  which  trembled  as  if  a  slight  smile  had  fil- 
tered out  from  beneath  the  lids : 

"  Are  you  happy  ?" 

I  pressed  her  to  my  heart. 

"  Very  well,  let  us  go.  Carry  me  where  you  will.  Sup- 
port me  a  little,  Tullio ;  I  feel  as  if  my  knees  would  give 
way." 

"  To  the  house,  Juliana  ?  " 

"  Where  you  wish." 

I  supported  her  by  placing  my  arm  around  her  waist,  and 
I  drew  her  along.  She  walked  like  a  somnambulist.  At 
first  we  were  silent ;  and,  each  moment,  we  both  turned 
together  toward  one  another,  to  look  at  each  other.  She 
seemed  to  me  to  be  really  a  new  woman;  my  attention  was 
arrested  by  the  details,  was  preoccupied  by  them ;  a  slight 
mark  scarcely  visible  on  the  skin,  a  little  dimple  on  the 
IQWC.F  lip;  the  curvature  of  the  lashes,  a  vein  at  the  temple, 


102  THE    INTRUDER. 

the  shadow  that  encircled  the  eyes,  the  infinitely  delicate 
lobe  of  the  ear.  The  brown  mark  on  the  neck  was  hardly 
hidden  by  the  edging  of  lace;  at  each  movement  of  the 
head  that  Juliana  made,  one  saw  it  appear  or  disappear; 
and  that  little  particularity  irritated  my  impatience.  I  was 
intoxicated,  and  yet,  I  was  very  lucid.  I  heard  the  cries  of 
the  swallows,  more  numerous,  the  splashing  of  the  jets  of 
water  in  the  fountain  close  by.  I  had  the  sensation  that 
life  was  fleeting,  that  time  was  flying.  And  that  sun,  and 
those  flowers,  and  those  perfumes,  and  those  sounds,  and 
all  the  joyousness  of  the  springtime,  aroused  in  me  for 
the  third  time  an  inexplicable  emotion  of  anxiety. 

"  My  willow  !"  cried  Juliana,  as  we  arrived  at  the  foun- 
tain; and  she  ceased  leaning  on  me,  walked  more  rapidly. 
"  Look,  look  how  tall  it  is  !  Do  you  remember  ?  It  was 
only  a  branch." 

After  being  pensive  for  a  moment,  she  added  in  a  differ- 
ent tone  and  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  I  saw  it  before — you  do  not  perhaps  know  ?  I  came 
here,  to  the  Lilacs,  the  other  time." 

She  could  not  restrain  a  sigh.  But  immediately,  as  if  to 
dissipate  the  shadow  that  these  words  had  put  between  us, 
as  if  to  remove  the  bitterness  from  her  mouth,  she  bent 
toward  one  of  the  two  faucets,  drank  a  few  mouthfuls,  then 
turning  towards  me  made  a  gesture  as  if  asking  a  kiss. 
Her  chin  was  still  wet,  and  her  lips  cool.  We  both  felt 
that  what  was  to  be  must  be,  and  we  longed  for  the 
supreme  reconciliation  that  every  fibre  of  our  beings 
demanded.  When  we  disengaged  ourselves,  our  eyes 
repeated  the  same  intoxicating  promise.  And  how  extra- 
ordinary was  the  sentiment  expressed  by  Juliana's  physi- 
ognomy. But,  then,  I  did  not  understand  it !  Later  on, 
only  during  the  hours  that  followed,  did  it  become  in- 


THE    INTRUDER.  103 

telligible — only  later  I  knew  that  a  vision  of  death  and 
a  vision  of  voluptuousness  had  at  the  same  time  intoxi- 
cated the  poor  creature,  and  that  in  abandoning  her- 
self to  the  languors  of  her  flesh  she  had  made  a  funeral 
vow.  I  see  as  if  I  had  her  before  my  eyes,  I  sha.ll  always 
see  that  face  full  of  mystery,  under  the  shadow  of  that  wil- 
low which  rained  on  us  its  great  vegetal  chevelure.  Beneath 
the  sun,  between  the  long  branches  of  diaphanous  foliage, 
silvery  reflections  from  the  water  imparted  a  hallucinating 
vibration  to  the  shade.  The  echoes  combined,  in  a  low 
and  continuous  monotone,  the  sonorous  sound  of  the  jets 
of  water.  All  these  appearances  exalted  my  mind  out  of 
the  world  about  me. 

We  went  toward  the  house  without  speaking.  My  joy  was 
so  great  at  our  reconciliation,  our  reawakened  love,  that  my 
soul  was  transported  in  a  whirlwind  of  joy  so  high,  the  pul- 
sations of  my  arteries  were  so  violent,  that  I  thought :  "  Is 
this  delirium  ?  I  felt  nothing  of  this  on  my  first  marriage 
night,  when  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  nuptial  cham- 
ber." Twice  or  three  times  I  was  seized  by  a  savage  trans- 
port, as  if  by  a  sudden  attack  of  madness,  and  it  is  won- 
derful that  I  could  contain  myself :  so  great  was  my 
physical  desire  to  take  possession  again  of  this  woman.  In 
her  also  the  crisis  must  have  become  insupportable ;  be- 
cause she  stopped,  and  sighed  :  "  Oh  !  my  God,  my  God  ! 
This  is  too  much  ! ' ' 

Suffocating,  oppressed,  she  took  my  hand  and  placed  it 
over  her  heart. 

"Feel,"  said  she. 

I  felt  less  the  throbbing  of  her  heart  than  the  elasticity  of 
her  breast,  through  the  cloth.  I  saw  the  iris  in  Juliana's 
eyes  become  hidden  under  the  closing  eyelids.  For  fear 
that  she  would  faint,  I  supported  her ;  then  I  bore  her 


104  THE    INTRUDER. 

away,  I  carried  her  almost  as  far  as  the  cypress,  as  far  as  a 
bench  where  we  both  sat  down,  both  exhausted. 

The  house  rose  before  us,  as  if  in  a  dream. 

Leaning  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  she  said : 

"  Ah  !  Tullio,  how  terrible  !  Do  you  not  think,  too,  that 
we  could  die  from  it  ?  " 

She  added,  gravely,  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  from 
I  know  not  what  depths  of  her  soul : 

"  Shall  we  both  die  ?" 

I  felt  a  strange  shudder,  which  convinced  me  that  these 
words  expressed  an  extraordinary  state  of  mind,  perhaps  the 
same  sentiment  that  had  transformed  her  face  beneath  the 
willow,  after  the  embrace,  after  the  silent  resolution.  But 
this  time,  again,  I  could  not  understand.  I  understood 
only  that  we  were  both  possessed  by  a  species  of  delirium 
and  that  we  were  both  breathing  the  atmosphere  of  a 
dream. 

The  house  rose  before  us  as  in  a  vision.  On  the  rus- 
tic facade,  on  every  cornice,  on  every  projection,  along  the 
gutters,  on  the  architraves,  beneath  the  window  ledges, 
beneath  the  stones  of  the  balconies,  between  the  brackets, 
between  the  eminences,  everywhere,  the  swallows  had  built 
their  nests.  The  clay  nests,  by  thousands,  old  and  new, 
cemented  together  like  the  cells  of  a  hive,  had  but  few 
spaces  between  them.  In  these  spaces,  and  on  the  slats 
of  the  Venetian  shutters,  and  on  the  iron-work  of  the  bal- 
ustrades, the  excrements  made  white  patches  like  thinned 
chalk.  Closed  and  without  inhabitants,  this  house  never- 
theless was  full  of  life — a  bustling  life,  joyous  and  tender. 
The  faithful  swallows  whirled  around  in  their  flight,  with 
their  cries,  their  scintillations,  with  all  their  tendernesses, 
ceaselessly.  While,  in  the  air,  flocks  pursued  one  another, 
with  strong,  swift  strokes,  as  rapid  as  arrows,  with  great 


THE    INTRUDER.  10$ 

alternating  clamors,  flying  away,  coming  closer  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  brushing  close  to  the  trees,  then 
rising  up  again  in  reflecting  flashes  in  the  sunlight,  inde- 
fatigable. In  and  about  the  nests  there  was  an  activity 
of  another  sort,  but  not  the  less  ardent.  Some  of  the 
swallows  remained  for  several  moments  fixed  before  the 
orifices ;  others  sustained  themselves  on  their  wings  while 
in  flight ;  others,  half-way  in,  showed  on  the  outside  only 
their  little  forked  tails,  quivering  and  agile,  black  and 
white  on  the  grayish  mud ;  others,  half-way  out,  showed  a 
small  portion  of  their  shining  breasts  and  fawn-colored 
throats  ;  others,  up  to  then  invisible,  flew  out  with  a  piercing 
cry,  and  flew  off.  All  this  lively  and  joyous  movement 
around  the  closed  house,  all  that  animation  around  the  nests 
of  our  nest  of  the  old  days,  formed  a  spectacle  so  delight- 
ful, a  miracle  of  gentleness  so  exquisite,  that  for  several 
minutes,  as  if  during  a  respite  from  our  fever,  we  forgot 
ourselves  in  its  contemplation. 

I  broke  the  enchantment  by  rising. 

"Here  is  the  key,"  I  said.  "What  are  we  waiting 
for?" 

"  Ah  !  Tullio,  let  us  wait  a  little  longer,"  she  begged,  in 
a  sort  of  fright. 

"  I  am  going  to  open  the  door." 

And  I  approached  the  door ;  I  mounted  the  three  steps, 
which  produced  on  me  the  effect  that  they  were  those  of  an 
altar.  At  the  moment  when  I  was  about  to  turn  the  key, 
with  the  trembling  of  a  devotee  who  is  opening  a  reli- 
quary, I  felt  Juliana  behind  me.  She  had  followed  me, 
furtively,  lightly  as  a  shadow.  I  started. 

"  Is  it  you  !  " 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  she  murmured,  caressingly,  the  exhala- 
tion of  her  breath  warm  on  my  ear. 


106  THE    INTRUDER. 

She  put  her  arms  around  my  neck,  so  that  her  delicate 
wrists  crossed  beneath  my  chin. 

That  furtive  act,  the  laugh  that  rippled  in  her  voice  and 
betrayed  her  infantile  joy  at  having  startled  me,  that  man- 
ner of  embracing  me,  all  those  agile  graces  recalled  to  me 
the  Juliana  of  the  old  days,  the  young  and  tender  compan- 
ion of  the  happy  years,  the  delicious  creature  with  the  long 
tresses,  merry  laughter,  and  girlish  ways.  An  effluvium  of 
the  old-time  happiness  enveloped  me,  on  the  threshold  of 
this  house  filled  with  memories. 

"  Shall  I  open?"  I  asked. 

My  hand  rested  on  the  key,  ready  to  turn  it. 

"  Open,"  she  answered. 

She  did  not  loosen  her  hold  on  me,  and  I  continued  to 
feel  her  breath  on  my  neck. 

At  the  creaking  made  by  the  key  in  the  lock,  her  arms 
clasped  me  more  firmly ;  and  she  pressed  against  me,  com- 
municating to  me  her  tremor.  The  swallows  warbled  over 
our  heads,  and  their  light  twitterings  contrasted,  so  to  speak, 
with  the  depth  of  the  silence. 

"  Go  in,"  she  murmured,  without  loosing  her  hold  on  me. 
"Go  in,  go  in." 

That  voice,  coming  from  lips  so  near  yet  invisible,  real 
and  yet  mysterious,  breathed  all  warm  in  my  ear  and  yet  so 
intimate  that  it  seemed  to  speak  to  the  centre  of  my  soul, 
more  feminine,  softer  than  ever  voice  was  before.  I  hear 
it  still.  I  shall  hear  it  forever. 

"Go  in,  go  in." 

I  pushed  the  door  open.  We  crossed  the  threshold  to- 
gether, as  if  dissolved  into  one  single  person,  noiselessly. 

The  vestibule  was  lighted  by  a  high,  round  window.  A 
swallow  flew  over  our  heads,  warbling.  We  raised  our  eyes 
in  surprise.  A  nest  hung  among  the  grotesques  of  the  ceil- 


THE    INTRUDER.  IO7 

ing.  There  was  a  broken  window-pane  in  the  window. 
The  swallow  flew  out  through  the  opening,  still  warbling. 

"  Now,  I  am  entirely  yours,  entirely,"  murmured  Juliana, 
without  detaching  her  hold  on  my  neck. 

But,  by  a  sinuous  movement,  she  fell  on  my  breast,  and 
met  my  mouth.  We  exchanged  a  long  kiss.  I  said  to  her, 
with  intoxication : 

"  Come,  let  us  go  up.     Shall  I  carry  you  ?  " 

In  spite  of  the  intoxication,  I  felt  a  sufficient  strength 
in  my  muscles  to  carry  her  at  one  bound  to  the  top  of  the 
stairway. 

She  answered : 

"  No.     I  can  go  up  alone." 

But  to  see  her,  to  hear  her,  she  seemed  incapable  of  it. 

I  put  my  arms  round  her  as  I  had  already  done  in  the  gar- 
den. I  raised  her,  I  urged  her  up  step  by  step.  One  would 
have  said  that  in  the  house  there  was  a  deep  and  distant 
buzzing,  like  that  heard  in  the  folds  of  certain  sea-shells; 
one  would  have  said  that  no  other  sound  penetrated  there 
from  the  exterior. 

When  we  were  upon  the  landing,  instead  of  opening  the 
door  facing  us  I  turned  to  the  right  in  the  dark  corridor, 
and  I  drew  her  on  with  my  hand,  without  speaking.  She 
was  panting  so  that  it  pained  me.  Her  agitation  was  com- 
municated to  me. 

' '  Where  are  we  going  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"  To  our  room,"  I  answered. 

One  could  scarcely  see.  I  was  guided  as  if  by  instinct. 
I  found  the  knob,  I  opened ;  we  entered. 

The  obscurity  was  partly  illuminated  by  rays  of  light 
that  filtered  through  the  cracks  of  the  shutters,  and  here  a 
deeper  buzzing  was  heard.  I  should  have  liked  to  run  to 
the  windows  to  immediately  admit  more  light ;  but  I  could 


108  THE   INTRUDER. 

not  leave  Juliana;  it  seemed  tome  impossible  to  detach 
myself  from  her,  to  interrupt,  were  it  but  for  a  second,  the 
contact  of  our  hands,  as  if  through  the  skin  the  live  ends 
of  our  nerves  were  magnetically  adhered.  We  advanced 
together,  groping  our  way  through  the  dark. 


VIII. 

IT  was  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  About  three  hours 
had  passed  since  our  arrival  at  the  Lilacs. 

I  had  left  Juliana  alone  for  a  few  minutes  ;  I  had  gone  to 
call  Calisto.  The  old  man  had  brought  the  lunch  basket ; 
and  on  receiving  for  the  second  time  a  rather  abrupt  dis- 
missal, he  had  shown,  instead  of  surprise,  a  certain  mali- 
cious good-nature. 

Juliana  and  I  now  were  seated  at  the  table  like  two  lov- 
ers, opposite  each  other,  exchanging  smiles.  Before  us  were 
spread  cold  meats,  preserved  fruits,  biscuits,  oranges,  and 
a  bottle  of  Chablis.  The  room,  with  its  ceiling  decorated 
in  rococo,  with  its  light-colored  walls,  its  pastoral  scenes 
painted  over  the  doors,  had  a  sort  of  gayety  now  out  of 
fashion,  the  air  of  a  past  century.  Through  the  open  bal- 
cony a  very  soft  light  entered,  because  long  milky  streaks 
were  spread  over  the  heavens.  In  the  rectangle  of  the  pale 
sky  stood  out  "  the  old,  venerable  cypress,  whose  trunk  arose 
from  the  midst  of  a  rose-bush  and  whose  top  sheltered  a 
nest  of  nightingales."  Lower  down,  through  the  bent  iron- 
work of  the  balustrade,  could  be  seen  the  exquisite  forest 
of  light  violet  tone,  the  vernal  glory  of  the  Lilacs.  The 
triple  perfume,  the  vernal  soul  of  the  Lilacs,  was  dissemi- 
nated in  the  calm  and  slow  harmonious  undulations. 

"  Do  you  remember  ?  "  said  Juliana. 

She  repeated  :  "  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

To  her  lips  rose  one  by  one  the  most  distant  reminis- 


JiO  THE   INTRUDER. 

cences  of  our  love,  that,  barely  evoked  by  a  discreet  allu- 
sion, were,  nevertheless,  revived  with  an  extraodinary 
intensity,  in  that  place  that  had  seen  their  birth,  among 
propitious  objects.  But  the  sad  disquietude  and  the  frenzy 
of  life  that  had  taken  possession  of  me  in  the  garden  on 
our  first  entry  were  irritated  now  to  impatience,  and  sug- 
gested to  me  hyperbolical  visions  of  the  future  that  I  op- 
posed to  the  phantoms  of  an  importunate  past. 

"  To-morrow,  in  two  or  three  days  at  the  latest,  we  must 
come  back  here  to  stay,  but  alone.  You  see,  there  is 
nothing  lacking;  everything  is  in  its  place.  If  you  wish, 
we  could  even  remain  here  to-night.  You  do  not  wish  to  ? 
Really,  you  do  not  wish  to  ?  " 

By  my  voice,  gesture,  look,  I  sought  to  tempt  her.  My 
knees  touched  her  knees.  But  she  looked  at  me  fixedly, 
without  answering. 

"  Remember  the  first  evening  here,  at  the  Lilacs  !  We 
strolled  here  after  the  Ave  Maria,  and  saw  the  lights  at  the 
windows !  Ah !  you  understand  me  well.  .  .  .  The 
lights  that  illuminate  a  house  for  the  first  time,  the  first 
evening  /  Do  you  remember  ?  Up  to  now,  you  have  done 
nothing  but  remember,  remember.  And  yet,  you  see,  all 
your  recollections  are  not  worth  to  me  one  minute  of 
to-day,  will  not  be  worth  one  minute  of  to-morrow.  Could 
you  possibly  doubt  the  happiness  that  awaits  you  ?  I 
have  never  loved  you,  Juliana,  as  much  as  I  love  you  at 
this  moment ;  never,  never,  do  you  hear  ?  Never  have  I 
been  as  much  yours  as  now,  Juliana.  I  will  recount  to 
you,  I  will  describe  to  you  my  days,  in  order  that  you  may 
understand  your  miracles.  After  so  much  unhappiness,  who 
could  have  hoped  for  anything  like  this  ?  I  will  tell  you. 
At  certain  times,  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  gone  back  to  the 
period  of  my  adolescence,  to  the  time  of  my  youth.  I  felt 


THE    INTRUDER.  Ill 

myself  candid  as  I  did  then,  good,  tender,  simple.  I  re- 
membered nothing  more.  All,  all  my  thoughts  were  of 
you;  all  my  emotions  were  centred  in  you.  Sometimes 
the  sight  of  a  flower,  of  a  little  leaf,  sufficed  to  make  my 
soul  overflow,  so  full  it  was.  And  you  knew  nothing,  you 
perceived  nothing,  perhaps.  I  will  tell  you.  The  other 
day,  Saturday,  when  I  entered  your  room  with  the  white 
hawthorns  !  I  was  as  timid  as  an  amorous  boy,  and,  inter- 
nally, I  felt  as  if  I  were  dying  with  desire  to  take  you  in 
my  arms.  Did  you  perceive  it  ?  I  will  tell  you  every- 
thing ;  I  will  make  you  laugh.  That  day,  the  curtains  of 
the  alcove  permitted  a  view  of  your  bed.  I  could  not  remove 
my  eyes  from  it,  I  was  all  trembling.  How  I  trembled  !  You 
cannot  understand.  Two  or  three  times  already,  I  have 
entered  your  room,  alone,  by  stealth,  my  heart  palpitat- 
ing ;  and  I  have  raised  the  curtains  to  look  at  your  bed,  to 
touch  your  cover,  to  bury  my  face  in  your  pillow,  like  a 
fanatical  lover.  And  certain  nights,  when  all  was  asleep  at 
the  Badiola,  I  have  ventured  softly,  softly,  almost  as  far  as 
your  door;  I  thought  I  heard  your  breathing.  Tell  me,  tell 
me,  may  I  come  to  you  to-night?  Do  you  want  me?  Tell 
me,  will  you  expect  me  ?  Can  we  sleep  to-night  separated 
from  each  other  ?  No,  it  is  not  possible  !  Your  cheek 
will  find  on  my  bosom  its  accustomed  place,  here,  do  you 
remember  ?  How  light  you  seemed,  when  you  were  sleep- 
ing." 

"  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  Tullio  !  "  she  interrupted,  suppli- 
catingly,  as  if  my  words  pained  her. 

She  added,  with  a  smile  : 

"  You  must  not  talk  like  that.  I  told  you  so  just  now. 
I  am  so  weak  !  I  am  only  a  poor  invalid.  You  make  me 
feel  dizzy.  I  can  no  longer  stand  upright.  See  to  what  a 
state  you  have  reduced  me.  I  am  half  dead." 


112  THE    INTRUDER. 

She  smiled,  a  weak,  tired  smile.  Her  eyelids  were 
slightly  reddened ;  but,  in  spite  of  the  heaviness  of  the 
lids,  the  pupils  burned  with  a  febrile  ardor,  and  constantly 
regarded  me  with  an  almost  intolerable  fixity,  scarcely  soft- 
ened by  the  shadow  of  the  eyelashes.  In  her  entire  manner 
there  was  some  constraint,  that  my  eyes  could  not  discern 
nor  my  intelligence  define.  Had  her  face  ever  borne  such 
a  mysterious  and  disquieting  character  before  ?  It  seemed 
as  if  its  expression  became  from  moment  to  moment  more 
complicated,  vague,  almost  enigmatical.  And  I  thought: 
"  She  is  harassed  by  an  internal  tempest.  She  can  no 
longer  clearly  distinguish  what  has  taken  place  in  her  state. 
In  her,  without  doubt,  everything  is  upset.  Has  not  one 
moment  sufficed  to  change  her  existence  ? ' '  And  that 
profound  expression  attracted  me,  excited  me  ever  more 
and  more.  The  ardor  of  her  look  penetrated  even  to  my 
marrow  with  a  devouring  fire.  I  was  glad  to  see  her  so 
crushed :  I  was  impatient  to  know  her  mine,  to  embrace 
her  again,  to  hear  her  utter  a  new  cry,  to  drink  in  her 
entire  soul. 

"  You  are  not  eating,"  I  said,  making  an  effort  to  dissi- 
pate the  vapors  that  rapidly  mounted  to  my  brain. 

"  Nor  are  you." 

"  Take  a  bite,  at  least.  Do  you  not  recognize  this 
wine?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !     I  recognize  it." 

"  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

And  we  looked  into  the  depths  of  each  other's  eyes,  agi- 
tated by  the  evocation  of  the  memory  of  our  love,  over 
which  floated  the  delicate  vapor  of  that  pale  and  somewhat 
bitter  wine,  her  favorite  beverage. 

"  Let  us  drink  together  to  our  happiness  !  " 

We  clinked  our  glasses,  and  I  drank  mine  at  a  single 


THE    INTRUDER.  113 

draught,  but  she  did  not  even  moisten  her  lip,  arrested  by 
an  insurmountable  repugnance. 

"  Well  ?" 

"  I  cannot,  Tullio." 

"Why  ?" 

"  I  cannot.  Do  not  compel  me  to.  One  single  drop 
would,  I  believe,  suffice  to  make  me  ill." 

She  had  become  as  pale  as  death. 

"  Juliana,  you  are  ill  !  " 

"  A  little.     Let  us  rise.     Let  us  go  out  on  the  balcony." 

Putting  my  arm  round  her,  I  felt  the  softness  of  her 
waist ;  for,  in  my  absence,  she  had  removed  her  corset.  I 
said  to  her : 

"  Would  you  like  to  lie  down  ?  You  can  rest,  and  I  will 
remain  near  you." 

"  No,  Tullio.     You  see,  I  already  feel  better." 

We  stopped  on  the  sill  of  the  balcony,  with  the  cypress 
before  us.  She  leaned  against  the  side-post,  and  placed 
one  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

From  the  projection  of  the  architrave,  below  the  cornice, 
hung  a  group  of  nests.  The  swallows  were  coming  and 
going,  with  incessant  activity.  But  below,  the  calm  of  the 
garden  was  so  profound,  the  top  of  the  cypress  was  so 
motionless,  that  the  sounds  of  the  wings,  these  flights,  these 
cries,  displeased  me,  tired  me.  Since,  in  this  tranquil 
light,  everything  hid  itself,  I  sought  repose,  a  long  period 
of  silence,  in  order  to  taste  in  plenitude  the  suavity  of  the 
hour  and  the  isolation. 

"  Are  the  nightingales  always  there  ?  "  I  asked,  pointing 
to  the  top  of  the  venerable  tree. 

"Who  knows?     Perhaps." 

"  They  sing  at  night.     Would  you  not  like  to  hear  them 
again  ? ' ' 
8 


114  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  But  at  what  time  will  Federico  come  back  ?" 

"  Let  us  hope,  late." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  late,  very  late,"  she  cried,  with  such  warm 
sincerity  of  hope  that  it  caused  me  a  thrill  of  joy. 

"  Are  you  happy  ?  "  I  asked  her,  and  I  sought  the  an- 
swer in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  am  happy,"  she  answered,  lowering  her  eyelids. 

"You  know  that  I  love  only  you,  that  I  am  yours  for- 
ever?" 

"I  know  it." 

"  And  you — how  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  You  will  never  know  how  much,  my  poor  Tullio." 

As  she  uttered  these  words,  she  left  the  side-post  and 
leaned  her  entire  weight  on  me,  with  one  of  those  inde- 
scribable motions  in  which  she  threw  all  the  sweetness  and 
abandon  that  the  most  feminine  of  creatures  could  show  to 
a  man. 

"  How  beautiful  you  are  !     How  beautiful  you  are  !  " 

Beautiful,  in  fact,  beautiful  from  languor,  beautiful  in 
soft  suppleness,  and,  how  shall  I  say  ?  so  fluid  that  she  made 
me  think  of  the  possibility  of  drinking  her  down  in  small 
portions,  to  quench  my  thirst  of  her.  On  the  pallor  of 
her  face  the  mass  of  loosened  hair  seemed  on  the  point  of 
spreading  out  like  a  wave.  The  eyelashes  threw  a  shadow 
on  her  cheeks,  agitating  me  more  than  a  look  would  have 
done. 

"  Nor  will  you  ever  know  how  much.  If  I  told  you  the 
mad  thoughts  that  are  born  in  me  !  My  happiness  is  so 
great  that  it  becomes  anguish,  it  makes  me  wish  to  die." 

"Die!"  she  repeated,  very  low,  with  a  feeble  smile. 
"  Who  knows,  Tullio,  if  you  will  not  see  me  die  before 
long?" 

"Oh!  Juliana!" 


THE    INTRUDER.  11$ 

She  turned  round  to  look  at  me,  and  added : 

"  Tell  me,  what  would  you  do  if  I  were  to  die  sud- 
denly ?" 

"Child!" 

"  If,  for  instance,  I  were  dead  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Won't  you  be  silent  ?' 

I  took  her  head,  and  kissed  her  on  the  mouth,  cheeks, 
eyes,  forehead,  hair,  with  light  and  rapid  kisses.  She  did 
not  attempt  to  stop  me ;  and  even  when  I  ceased,  she  mur- 
mured : 

"More!" 

"  Let  us  return  to  our  room,"  I  begged  her,  drawing  her 
away. 

She  permitted  herself  to  be  led. 

In  our  room  the  balcony  was  permitted  to  remain  open. 
And  there  entered  through  it,  with  the  light,  the  musk-like 
odor  of  the  tea-roses  that  flourished  in  the  vicinity.  Against 
the  bright-colored  tapestries,  the  little  blue  flowers  seemed 
so  faded  that  they  were  scarcely  distinguishable.  A  corner 
of  the  garden  was  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  a  closet,  reced- 
ing in  it  like  a  chimerical  landscape.  Juliana's  gloves, 
hat,  and  bracelet,  lying  on  the  table,  seemed  to  have  re- 
awakened in  this  interior  the  happy  life  of  long  ago,  to 
have  shed  a  renewed  intimacy. 

"  To-morrow,  to-morrow,  we  must  return  here,  not  later," 
I  said,  burning  with  impatience,  feeling  an  ardor  and  seduc- 
tion from  every  one  of  these  objects.  "To-morrow  we 
must  sleep  here.  You  wish  it,  too,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"To-morrow!  " 

"  To  begin  to  love  again,  in  this  house,  in  that  garden,  in 
this  springtime ;  to  begin  to  love  once  more  as  if  oblivion 
had  effaced  everything ;  to  seek  once  more  one  by  one  our 
old-time  caresses,  and  find  in  each  one  a  new  savor,  as  if 


Il6  THE    INTRUDER. 

we  had  never  before  tasted  it;  to  have  before   us  days, 
long  days  .  ' 

"  No,  no,  Tullio;  we  must  not  speak  of  the  future.  You 
know  that  it  is  an  evil  omen.  To-day,  to-day — think  of 
to-day,  of  the  present  hour." 


IX. 


"  I  BELIEVE  I  heard  the  horses'  bells,"  said  Juliana, 
rising.  "  It's  Federico." 

We  listened.     She  must  have  been  mistaken. 

"Is  it  not  time  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  it  is  almost  six  o'clock." 

"Oh,  mio  Dio!" 

We  listened  again.  But  no  sound  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  the  carriage. 

"  It  would  be  better  to  go  and  see,  Tullio." 

I  left  the  room  and  descended  the  stairs.  I  hesitated  a 
little ;  a  cloud  was  before  my  eyes ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  a 
mist  rose  from  my  brain.  From  the  little  side  door  that 
opened  in  the  surrounding  wall,  I  called  Calisto,  whose 
dwelling  was  near  by.  I  interrogated  him.  The  carriage 
had  not  been  seen  yet. 

The  old  man  would  have  liked  to  detain  me  in  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Do  you  know,  Calisto,"  I  said  to  him,  "  that  probably 
we  will  return  here  to-morrow  to  stay  ?  " 

He  raised  his  arms  in  token  of  his  delight. 

"Really?" 

"  Really.  We  shall  have  time  to  chat.  When  you  see 
the  carriage,  come  and  let  me  know.  Good-night,  Ca- 
listo." 

I  left  him  to  reenter  the  house.  The  day  was  waning 
and  the  swallows  cried  still  more  loudly.  The  sky  seemed 


Il8  THE    INTRUDER. 

to  be  alive  with  them,  as  the  flocks  rapidly  cleft  the 
air. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Juliana,  turning  from  the  mirror  which 
she  had  approached  in  order  to  adjust  her  hat. 

"Nothing." 

"  Look  at  me.     Is  not  my  hair  dishevelled  ?  " 

"No." 

"  But  what  a  face  !     Just  look." 

One  would  have  thought  that  she  had  stepped  from  a 
coffin,  she  seemed  so  exhausted.  Great  violet  rings  encircled 
her  eyes. 

"  And  yet  I  still  live,"  she  added,  attempting  to  smile. 

"  Are  you  suffering  ?  " 

"  No,  Tullio.  But  I  do  not  know  what  ails  me.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  entirely  empty,  that  my  head  is 
empty,  my  veins  empty,  my  heart  empty.  You  might  say 
I  had  given  you  all.  You  see — I  am  now  a  shadow,  a 
shadow  of  life." 

While  pronouncing  these  words,  she  smiled  in  a  strange 
manner;  she  smiled  a  subtle  and  sibylline  smile,  that 
troubled  me,  that  raised  up  in  me  confused  inquietudes.  I 
was  too  enervated,  I  was  too  languid,  too  much  blinded 
by  my  intoxication;  the  activity  of  my  mind  had  become 
indolent,  my  consciousness  became  dulled.  No  sinister 
suspicion  had  penetrated  me  yet.  Meanwhile  I  looked 
at  her  attentively,  I  examined  her  with  anxiety,  without 
knowing  why. 

She  turned  to  the  mirror  again,  and  put  on  her  hat ;  then 
she  approached  the  table,  and  took  her  bracelet  and  gloves. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said.  She  seemed  to  be  still  seek- 
ing something,  and  added : 

"  I  had  a  parasol,  had  I  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 


THE    INTRUDER.  1 19 

"  Ah  !  I  must  have  left  it  in  the  alley,  on  the  bench." 

"  Let  us  go  and  look  for  it  together." 

<(  I  am  too  tired." 

"Then  I  will  go  alone." 

"No,  send  Calisto." 

"  I  will  go  myself.  I  will  gather  you  a  few  lilacs,  a 
bouquet  of  musk-roses.  Shall  I  ?  " 

"No,  don't  pluck  the  flowers." 

"  Come,  sit  down  here  while  waiting.  Perhaps  Federico 
will  be  late." 

I  drew  up  an  arm-chair  for  her  from  the  balcony,  and  she 
sank  into  it. 

"  As  you  are  going  down,"  she  said,  "  see  if  my  cloak  is 
at  Calisto' s.  I  did  not  leave  it  in  the  carriage,  did  I  ? 
I  feel  a  little  cold." 

In  fact,  she  was  shivering. 

"  Shall  I  close  the  balcony  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  Let  me  look  at  the  garden.  How  beautiful 
it  is  now  !  Do  you  see  ?  How  beautiful  it  is  !  " 

The  garden,  here  and  there,  had  vague  golden  tones.  The 
blooming  cimes  of  the  lilac-trees  took  on  an  ardent  violet 
tone  in  the  fading  light ;  and  as,  below,  the  rest  of  the 
flowering  branches  formed  a  bluish-gray  mass  that  undulated 
in  the  wind,  one  could  have  imagined  it  the  reflections  of 
a  changeable  moire".  At  the  fountain,  the  weeping  wil- 
lows bent  their  graceful  tresses.  The  water  seen  between 
the  trees  had  the  soft  brilliancy  of  mother-of-pearl.  This 
motionless  brilliancy,  these  weeping  trees,  that  delightful 
forest  of  flowers  in  that  fading  gold,  composed  an  illusory, 
enchanting,  unreal  picture. 

For  several  minutes  we  both  remained  silent,  beneath  the 
empire  of  this  magic.  A  confused  melancholy  enveloped 
my  soul ;  the  sombre  despair  that  lies  at  the  root  of  all 


I2O  THE    INTRUDER. 

human  love  arose  within  me.  Before  this  ideal  spectacle, 
my  physical  fatigue,  the  torpor  of  my  senses,  seemed  to 
become  heavier.  I  had  become  the  prey  of  an  uneasiness, 
a  discontent,  an  indefinable  remorse,  like  one  experiences 
after  an  indulgence  that  has  been  too  acute  or  too  pro- 
longed. I  suffered. 

Juliana  said  to  me,  as  if  in  a  dream : 

"  Yes,  now,  I  would  like  to  close  my  eyes  never  to 
reopen  them  again." 

She  added,  with  a  thrill : 

"  I'm  cold,  Tullio.     Go  quickly." 

Stretched  out  in  the  arm-chair,  she  huddled  up  as  if  to 
resist  the  fits  of  shivering  that  assailed  her.  Her  face, 
particularly  around  the  nose,  was  as  transparent  as  certain 
white  albatrosses.  She  was  in  pain. 

"  You  don't  feel  well,  poor  soul  !  "  I  said  to  her,  stirred 
by  pity,  and  also  by  a  slight  fear,  as  I  looked  at  her 
fixedly. 

"  I'm  cold.  Go,  Tullio.  Bring  me  my  cloak,  quick. 
Please!" 

I  ran  down  to  Calisto's  lodge,  got  the  cloak,  and  went  up 
again  immediately.  She  hastened  to  put  it  on.  I  assisted 
her.  When  she  was  seated  in  the  arm-chair  again  she 
said  to  me,  burying  her  hands  in  her  sleeves  : 

"That  is  better." 

"  Now,  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  parasol  which  you  left 
over  there." 

"  No.     It  doesn't  matter." 

I  had  a  strange  and  mad  desire  to  go  back  to  the 
old  stone  bench  where  we  had  made  our  first  halt,  where 
she  had  cried,  where  she  had  spoken  the  three  divine  words  : 
"Yes,  still  more."  Was  it  a  sentimental  attraction? 
Was  it  the  curiosity  of  a  new  sensation  ?  Was  it  the  fas- 


THE    INTRUDER.  121 

cination  exercised  over  me  by  the  mysterious  aspect  of  the 
garden  in  the  deepening  twilight  ? 

"I'll  go  and  come  back  in  a  minute,"  I  said. 

I  went  out.     When  I  was  under  the  balcony,  I  cried : 

"Juliana!" 

She  showed  herself.  I  shall  always  retain  in  the  eyes  of 
my  soul  that  silent,  ghostly  apparition,  yet  distinct  as  a  liv- 
ing thing,  her  tall  figure  rendered  still  taller  by  the  length 
of  the  amaranthine  cloak,  and,  against  this  dark  silhouette, 
that  pale  face,  so  pale  !  The  words  of  Jacques  to  Amanda 
are  indissolubly  associated  in  my  mind  with  that  unchange- 
able vision : 

"  How  pale  you  are  to-night,  Amanda  !  Have  you  opened 
your  veins  to  tint  your  robe  ?  " 

She  withdrew,  or  rather,  to  describe  the  sensation  I  felt, 
she  evaporated.  I  advanced  rapidly  along  the  path,  with- 
out full  consciousness  of  what  impelled  me.  I  heard  the 
sound  of  my  own  foot-falls  resound  in  my  brain.  I  was  so 
preoccupied  that  I  was  obliged  to  stop  to  find  out  where  I 
was.  What  caused  this  blind  agitation  in  me  ?  A  simple 
physical  cause,  perhaps — a  particular  condition  of  my 
nerves.  That  is  what  I  believed.  Incapable  of  an  effort 
of  thought,  of  a  methodical  examination,  of  meditation, 
I  submitted  to  the  tyranny  of  my  nerves,  by  which  the 
external  appearances  were  reflected,  provoking  phenomena 
of  extraordinary  intensity,  as  in  hallucinations.  But,  like 
lightning-flashes,  certain  thoughts  lit  up  all  the  rest,  and 
increased  the  oppressive  feeling  that  several  unexpected 
incidents  had  already  given  rise  to  in  me. 

No,  Juliana  had  not  appeared  to  me  to-day  as  I  had 
imagined  she  would,  as  she  should  have  done  had  she  still 
been  the  same  creature  I  knew  before,  "  the  Juliana  of  the 
old  days."  She  had  not  assumed  toward  me  the  attitudes 


122  THE    INTRUDER. 

that  I  had  expected,  in  certain  circumstances.  A  strange 
element,  something  obscure,  violent,  and  excesssive  had 
modified  and  deformed  her  personality.  Must  this  change 
be  attributed  to  the  sickly  condition  of  her  organism  ? 
"  I  am  ill,  I  am  very  ill,"  she  had  often  repeated,  as  if  in 
justification.  Truly,  illness  produces  profound  changes, 
and  may  render  a  human  being  unrecognizable.  But  what 
was  her  malady  ?  Was  it  the  old  one,  not  extirpated  by 
the  surgeon's  steel,  complicated  perhaps,  perhaps  incura- 
ble ?  "  Who  knows  if  you  will  not  see  me  die  before 
long  ?  "  she  had  said  in  a  singular  tone,  that  may  have  been 
prophetic.  She  had  spoken  of  death  several  times.  She 
therefore  knew  that  she  carried  within  her  a  fatal  germ  ? 
Was  she  dominated  by  this  lugubrious  thought  ?  It  was 
perhaps  such  a  thought  that  had  fired  in  her  those  sombre, 
almost  hopeless,  almost  demented  ardors,  when  she  was 
in  my  arms  ?  It  was  perhaps  the  great  sudden  light  of 
happiness  that  had  rendered  more  visible  and  more  fright- 
ful the  spectre  that  pursued  her  ? 

"  Could  it  be  possible  that  she  might  die?  Could  death 
strike  her  even  while  in  my  arms,  in  the  midst  of  happi- 
ness ?"  I  thought  with  a  fright  that  froze  me,  that  for 
several  moments  rooted  me  to  the  spot,  as  if  the  peril 
were  immediate,  as  if  Juliana  had  predicted  truly  when  she 
had  said  : 

"  If,  for  instance,  I  were  to  die  to-morrow?" 
The  twilight  fell,  slightly  damp.  Breaths  of  humid  air 
ran  over  the  bushes,  causing  a  rustling  like  that  which  the 
rapid  passage  of  animals  through  them  would  have  produced. 
A  few  scattered  swallows  cleft  the  air  with  cries,  like  the 
flight  of  a  stone  propelled  by  a  sling.  At  sunset,  the  hori- 
zon, still  luminous,  had  the  immense  reverberations  of  a 
sinister  forge. 


THE    INTRUDER.  123 

I  arrived  at  the  bench,  and  found  the  parasol.  I  did  not 
linger  there,  in  spite  of  the  recent  memories,  still  keen, 
still  warm,  that  disturbed  my  soul.  It  was  there  she  had 
fallen  fainting,  vanquished ;  it  was  there  I  had  spoken  to 
her  the  supreme  words,  that  I  had  made  to  her  the  intoxi- 
cating avowal  :  "  You  were  in  my  house,  while  I  sought  you 
afar  off  "  ;  there  that  I  had  gathered  from  her  lips  the  breath 
that  had  ravished  my  soul  to  the  supreme  heights  of  joy; 
there  that  I  had  drunk  her  first  tears,  that  I  had  heard  her 
sobs,  that  I  had  uttered  the  obscure  question:  "It  is  too 
late,  perhaps  ?  Is  it  too  late  ?  ' ' 

Only  a  few  hours  had  passed,  and  all  that  was  already  so 
far  !  Only  a  few  hours  had  passed,  and  already  the  happi- 
ness had  faded  away.  Now  with  a  new,  but  none  the  less 
dreadful  signification,  the  question  was  repeated  within  me  : 
"  It  is  too  late,  perhaps?  Is  it  too  late?"  And  my 
exaltation  grew;  and  that  uncertain  light,  and  that  silent 
nightfall,  and  those  suspicious  rustlings  in  the  already 
shadowy  bushes,  and  all  those  deceptive  phantasmagorias  of 
the  twilight  had  for  my  mind  a  fatal  meaning.  "  If  really 
it  were  too  late  ?  If  really  she  knew  herself  to  be  doomed  ? 
If  she  already  knew  that  she  carried  death  in  her  bosom  ? 
Tired  of  living,  tired  of  suffering,  hoping  nothing  more 
from  me,  not  daring  to  kill  herself  at  once  with  a  fire-arm 
or  with  poison,  she  had  perhaps  cultivated,  has  perhaps 
nourished  her  malady,  has  kept  it  secret  in  order  to  facili- 
tate its  progress,  to  permit  it  to  take  root,  to  render  it 
incurable.  She  has  wished  to  arrive  slowly  and  in  secret 
at  her  final  liberation.  While  observing  herself  she  has 
become  familiar  with  the  science  of  her  malady,  and  now^ 
knows,  she  is  sure,  that  she  will  succumb ;  she  knows,  too, 
that  love,  that  voluptuousness,  that  my  kisses  will  precipi- 
tate the  catastrophe.  I  return  to  her  for  good  ;  an  unhoped 


124  THE    INTRUDER. 

for  happiness  opens  out  before  her;  she  loves  me,  she 
knows  that  I  love  her  greatly ;  in  one  day  the  dream  has 
become  for  us  a  reality.  And  it  is  then  that  there  rises  to 
her  lips  the  word,  "  Death  ! ' '  Confusedly  I  saw  pass  before 
me  the  cruel  images  that  had  tormented  me  during  those 
two  hours  of  waiting,  on  the  morning  of  the  surgical  opera- 
tion, when  I  seemed  to  have  before  my  eyes,  as  clearly  as 
the  figures  on  an  anatomical  atlas,  all  the  frightful  ravages 
produced  by  maladies  in  the  organisms  of  women.  And 
there  recurred  to  me  another  recollection  still  more  distant, 
with  an  accompaniment  of  precise  images :  the  darkened 
room,  the  open  window,  the  waving  curtains,  the  flickering 
candle-flame  before  the  dim  mirror,  the  sinister  appearance 
of  things,  and  she,  Juliana,  upright,  leaning  against  a  closet, 
convulsed,  writhing  as  if  she  had  swallowed  poison.  .  .  . 
And  the  accusing  voice,  the  same  voice,  also  repeated  to 
me  :  "  //  is  for  you,  for  you  that  she  wanted  to  die.  It  is  you, 
you,  who  have  urged  her  on  to  death." 

Seized  by  a  blind  fright,  by  a  sort  of  panic,  as  if  all 
these  images  had  been  veritable  realities,  I  ran  back  to  the 
house. 

On  raising  my  eyes,  the  house  seemed  without  signs  of  life, 
the  window  openings  and  the  balconies  were  filled  with 
shadows. 

"  Juliana  !  "  I  cried,  with  supreme  anguish,  springing  to 
the  stairway,  as  if  I  feared  I  should  not  arrive  soon  enough 
to  see  her  again. 

What  ailed  me  ?    What  was  this  dementia  ? 

I  panted  as  I  climbed  the  stairs  in  the  semi -darkness. 
I  rushed  into  the  room. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Juliana,  rising. 

"  Nothing,  nothing.  I  thought  you  had  called  me.  I 
have  run  a  little.  How  are  you  feeling  now  ?  " 


THE    INTRUDER.  1 25 

"  I  am  so  cold,  Tullio,  so  cold  !      Feel  my  hands." 

She  stretched  her  hands  out  to  me.     They  were  icy. 

"  I  am  frozen  all  over  like  that." 

"  My  God  !  Where  did  you  get  this  terrible  chill  ? 
What  can  I  do  to  warm  you  up  ?  " 

"  Do  not  worry,  Tullio.  This  is  not  the  first  time. 
It  lasts  hours  and  hours.  I  can  do  nothing  for  it.  I  must 
wait  until  it  passes  away.  But  why  is  Federico  so  long  ? 
It  is  almost  dark." 

She  sank  back  in  the  arm-chair,  as  if  she  had  exhausted 
all  her  strength  in  pronouncing  these  words. 

"  I  will  close  the  window,"  I  said,  turning  toward  the 
balcony. 

"  No,  no ;  leave  it  open.  It  is  not  the  air  that  chills  me. 
On  the  contrary,  I  need  all  the  air  I  can  get.  Come  here, 
nearer  to  me.  Take  this  stool." 

I  knelt  down.  With  a  feeble  gesture  she  passed  her  cold 
hand  over  my  head  and  murmured  : 

"  My  poor  Tullio  !" 

I  broke  out,  incapable  of  containing  myself  : 

"  Oh  !  tell  me,  Juliana,  my  love,  my  life  !  In  pity,  tell 
me  the  truth.  You  are  hiding  something  from  me.  Surely 
you  have  something  you  do  not  want  to  confess ;  there, 
in  the  centre  of  your  forehead,  there  is  a  fixed  idea,  some 
sombre  preoccupation  that  has  not  left  you  for  an  instant 
since  we  have  been  here,  since  we  have  been — happy.  But 
are  we  truly  happy  ?  Are  you,  can  you  be  happy  ?  Tell 
the  truth,  Juliana.  Why  would  you  deceive  me  ?  Yes,  it 
is  true,  you  have  been  ill ;  you  are  still  ill,  it  is  true.  But 
no,  it  is  not  that!  There  is  something  else  that  I  do  not 
understand,  that  I  do  not  know  of.  ...  Tell  me  the 
truth,  even  if  the  truth  must  be  to  me  annihilation.  This 
morning  when  you  sobbed,  I  asked  you  :  '  Is  it  too  late  ?  '  And 


126  THE    INTRUDER. 

you  answered  me  :  '  No,  no.'  Then  I  believed  your  words. 
But  might  it  not  be  too  late  for  another  motive  ?  Could 
not  something  prevent  you  from  enjoying  the  great  happi- 
ness into  which  we  have  just  entered  ?  I  mean  something 
you  know,  that  you  already  foresee  ?  Tell  me  the  truth." 

I  looked  at  her  fixedly;  and,  as  she  remained  silent,  I 
ended  by  seeing  nothing  but  her  large  eyes,  extraordinarily 
large,  deep  and  motionless.  All  else  had  disappeared. 
And  I  was  compelled  to  close  my  eyes  to  dissipate  the  sen- 
sation of  terror  that  these  eyes  caused  in  me.  How  long 
did  this  last  ?  An  hour  ?  A  second  ? 

"  I  am  ill,"  she  said  at  last,  with  agonized  slowness. 

"Ill  ?  But  what's  the  matter?"  I  stammered,  beside 
myself,  convinced  that,  in  her  tone,  I  detected  an  avowal 
that  corresponded  with  my  suspicion.  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter ?  Dangerously  ?  ' ' 

I  know  not  in  what  voice,  I  know  not  in  what  tone,  I 
know  not  with  what  gesture  I  articulated  the  last  question ; 
I  do  not  even  know  if  it  really  and  entirely  left  my  lips, 
or  if  she  heard  it  entirely. 

"  No,  no,  Tullio;  it  is  not  that.  I  meant,  no — I  meant 
that  it  is  not  my  fault  if  I  am  a  little  strange.  It  is  not 
my  fault.  .  .  .  You  must  have  patience  with  me  ;  you 
must  take  me  now  as  I  am.  Believe  me,  there  is  nothing 
more.  I  am  concealing  nothing  from  you.  I  shall  be 
cured  perhaps,  later;  yes,  I  shall  be  cured.  You  will  be 
patient,  will  you  not  ?  You  will  be  good.  Come  here, 
Tullio,  my  soul  !  You,  too,  it  seems  to  me,  are  a 
little  strange,  a  little  suspicious.  You  have  sudden  fears ; 
you  turn  white.  Who  knows  what  you  suppose  ?  Come, 
come  here ;  give  me  a  kiss  .  .  .  another  one 
another  one.  .  .  .  That's  right.  .  .  .  Embrace 
me,  warm  me  up  again.  .  .  .  There  is  Federico. " 


THE    INTRUDER.  127 

She  spoke  in  a  broken  and  rather  low  voice,  with  that 
inexpressible,  caressing,  tender,  restless  expression  that  she 
had  already  done  a  few  hours  before  on  the  bench,  to  calm 
me  and  console  me.  I  embraced  her.  In  the  wide  and 
low  arm-chair,  she,  so  thin,  made  room  for  me  at  her  side, 
and  pressed  close  to  me,  shivering,  and  gathered  up  the  end 
of  her  cloak  to  cover  me  with  it.  We  were  as  if  on  a 
couch,  entwined,  breast  to  breast,  our  breaths  mingling. 
And  I  thought :  "  If  my  breath,  if  my  contact,  could  imbue 
her  with  all  my  heat !  "  And  I  made  an  illusory  effort  of 
will  to  bring  about  this  transfusion. 

"This  evening,"  I  whispered,  "this  evening,  I  will 
hold  you  better;  you  won't  tremble,  then  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  You'll  see  how  nicely  I'll  hold  you.  I'll  put  you  to 
sleep.  All  night  long  you  will  sleep  on  my  heart." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"I  will  watch  over  you;  I  will  quench  my  thirst  with 
your  breath ;  I  will  read  in  your  face  the  dreams  you  are 
dreaming.  You  will  perhaps  speak  my  name,  dreaming." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  At  that  time,  on  certain  nights,  you  spoke  in  your 
dream.  How  charming  you  were  !  Ah  !  what  a  voice  ! 
You  cannot  know.  ...  A  voice  that  you  could  never 
have  heard,  that  I  alone  know — I  alone.  .  .  .  And  I 
will  hear  it  again.  Who  knows  what  you  will  say  ?  You 
will  speak  my  name  perhaps.  How  I  love  the  movement  of 
your  mouth  when  it  pronounces  the  u  of  my  name  !  One 
could  call  it  the  outline  of  a  kiss.  .  .  .  You  know  ? 
I  will  prompt  words  into  your  ear  that  they  may  enter  into 
your  dream.  Do  you  remember  that  at  that  time,  on  cer- 
tain mornings,  I  divined  your  dreams  ?  Ah  !  you  will  see, 
dear  soul ;  I  will  be  more  caressing  than  at  that  time. 


128  THE    INTRUDER. 

You  will  see  how  tender  I  will  be  in  order  to  cure  you. 
You  need  so  much  affection,  poor  soul  !  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  repeated  every  moment,  yieldingly, 
favoring  thereby  my  last  illusion,  and  also  augmenting  that 
sort  of  drowsy  intoxication  that  arose  from  my  own  voice 
and  the  belief  that  my  words  were  cradled  there  like  a 
voluptuous  song. 

"Did  you  hear  anything?"  I  asked  suddenly;  and  I 
raised  myself  a  little  in  order  to  hear  better. 

"What  ?     Is  it  Federico  ?" 

"No;  listen." 

We  both  listened,  our  eyes  turned  toward  the  garden. 

The  garden  was  but  a  confused  and  violet-colored  mass, 
touched  here  and  there  by  the  darkening  light  of  the  dying 
day.  A  zone  of  light  persisted  on  the  limit  of  the  sky,  a 
long,  tricolored  zone  :  below  of  a  blood-red,  then  orange, 
then  green,  then  a  fading  vegetable  green.  In  the  silence 
of  the  twilight  a  strong  and  limpid  voice  resounded,  like 
the  prelude  of  a  flute. 

The  nightingale  was  singing. 

"  It  is  on  the  cypress,"  murmured  Juliana. 

We  both  listened,  our  eyes  turned  toward  the  edge  of  the 
horizon  that  paled  beneath  the  impalpable  ashy  color  of  the 
evening.  My  soul  was  in  suspense,  as  if  it  had  expected 
from  this  language  some  high  revelation  of  Jove.  "  WThat, 
then,  is  this  poor  creature  at  my  side  feeling  ?  To  what 
summit  of  despair  is  this  poor  soul  raised  ?  " 

The  nightingale  was  singing.  At  first,  it  was  like  an 
explosion  of  melodious  joyfulness,  a  burst  of  smooth  trills 
that  rippled  with  the  sound  of  pearls  resounding  on  the 
crystals  of  musical  glasses.  First  pause.  Then  arose  a 
roll  of  marvellous  agility,  extraordinarily  sustained,  in 
which  was  mingled  the  energy  that  attempts  a  burst  of 


THE    INTRUDER.  I2p 

courage,  a  defiance  thrown  to  an  unknown  rival.  Second 
pause.  Then  a  theme  on  three  notes,  of  an  interrogative 
expression,  unrolled  the  chain  of  its  light  variations,  re- 
peating five  or  six  times  the  sweet  question,  modulated  as 
if  on  a  slender  reed  flute,  on  a  pastoral  pipe.  Third  pause. 
And  the  chant  became  an  elegy,  developed  in  a  minor 
key,  became  softened  like  a  sigh,  weakened  to  a  plaint, 
described  the  sorrow  of  a  solitary  lover,  the  vexation  of 
desire,  the  waiting  in  vain,  burst  into  a  final  appeal,  unex- 
pected, piercing  like  a  cry  of  anguish,  and  died  away. 
New  pause,  more  prolonged.  Then  there  were  new  tones, 
that  did  not  seem  to  issue  from  the  same  throat,  so  humble, 
timid,  tearful,  were  they,  so  much  did  they  resemble  the 
piping  of  newly  hatched  birds,  the  twittering  of  a  little 
sparrow;  then,  with  admirable  flexibility,  these  innocent 
accents  were  transformed  into  a  whirlwind  of  notes  more 
and  more  hurried,  that  sparkled  in  trains  of  trills,  vibrated 
in  dazzling  roulades,  softened  into  bold  periods,  descended, 
ascended,  mounted  to  prodigious  heights.  The  singer  be- 
came intoxicated  by  his  song.  With  pauses  so  brief  that 
they  scarcely  permitted  the  notes  to  die  away,  his  intoxica- 
tion overflowed  in  a  melody  that  varied  without  cease,  pas- 
sionate and  soft,  broken  and  vibrant,  light  and  grave,  inter- 
spersed now  with  feeble  moans  and  plaintive  supplications, 
now  with  abrupt  lyric  bursts,  supreme  adjurations.  Even 
the  garden  seemed  to  be  listening;  the  sky  seemed  to 
incline  toward  the  venerable  tree  whose  top  sheltered  the 
invisible  poet  who  shed  these  torrents  of  poetry.  The 
forest  of  flowers  respired  deeply  and  silently.  At  sunset 
several  yellow  streaks  of  light  lingered  on  the  horizon,  and 
this  last  glance  of  daylight  was  sad,  almost  mournful.  But 
a  star  appeared,  palpitating  and  trembling  like  a  drop  of 
timorous  dew, 


130  THE   INTRUDER. 

"To-morrow,"  I  murmured,  almost  unconsciously. 

And  that  word,  to  me  so  full  of  promise,  responded  to 
an  internal  supplication. 

To  better  listen,  we  had  raised  ourselves  a  little  and  we 
had  remained  several  minutes  in  that  position,  attentive. 
Suddenly,  I  felt  Juliana's  head  fall  on  my  shoulder,  heav- 
ily, like  a  thing  without  life. 

"  Juliana  !  Juliana  !  "  I  cried  with  fright. 

By  the  movement  I  made,  her  head  fell  back,  heavily, 
like  a  thing  without  life. 

"Juliana!" 

She  did  not  hear.  When  I  saw  the  cadaverous  pallor  of 
that  face  lit  up  by  the  last  yellowish  rays  of  light  from  the 
balcony,  I  was  struck  by  a  terrible  thought.  Distracted, 
allowing  Juliana  to  fall  back  on  the  back  of  the  arm-chair, 
inert,  calling  her  ceaselessly  by  name,  I  began  to  open  her 
corsage  with  contracted  fingers,  anxious  to  feel  her  heart. 

My  brother's  jovial  voice  called  out : 

"  Where  are  you,  you  lovers  ?  " 


X. 


SHE  had  rapidly  regained  consciousness.  Although 
scarcely  able  to  stand,  she  wanted  to  immediately  enter 
the  carriage  and  go  back  to  the  Badiola. 

And  now,  covered  with  our  rugs,  she  sat  back  in  her  seat 
motionless,  exhausted,  mute.  My  brother  and  I,  from  time 
to  time,  looked  at  her  with  uneasiness.  The  coachman 
whipped  up  his  horses.  Their  rapid  trot  resounded  on  the 
road,  bordered  here  and  there  by  blossoming  bushes,  on  that 
mild  April  evening,  beneath  a  cloudless  sky. 

Every  now  and  then,  Federico  and  I  asked :  "  How  are 
you  feeling,  Juliana  ?  " 

She  answered  :  "So,  so.     A  little  better." 

"Are  you  cold  ?" 

"Yes;  a  little." 

She  answered  with  a  manifest  effort.  One  would  almost 
have  said  that  our  questions  irritated  her ;  so  much  so,  that 
finally,  as  Federico  persisted  in  engaging  her  in  conversa- 
tion, she  said : 

"  Excuse  me,  Federico.     It  tires  me  to  speak." 

The  hood  had  been  lowered,  and  Juliana  was  in  the 
shadow,  invisible,  buried  beneath  the  covers.  Twenty 
times  I  bent  over  her  to  look  at  her  face,  either  with  the 
hope  that  she  was  napping,  or  with  the  fear  that  she  had 
collapsed  from  weakness.  But  each  time,  I  felt  the  same 
sensation  of  surprise  and  of  fear  on  noticing,  in  the  dark, 
that  her  eyes  were  wide  open  and  staring. 


132  THE    INTRUDER. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Federico  and  I  were  also 
silent.  The  trot  of  the  horses  was  not  rapid  enough  to  suit 
me.  I  wanted  the  coachman  to  make  the  horses  gallop. 

"  Faster,  Giovanni." 

It  was  almost  ten  o'clock  when  we  arrived  at  the  Badiola. 

My  mother  awaited  us,  very  much  worried  by  our  delay. 
When  she  saw  Juliana's  condition,  she  said  : 

"  I  knew  the  fatigue  would  hurt  her." 

Juliana  tried  to  reassure  her. 

"  It  is  nothing,  mother.  .  .  .  You  will  see,  to-morrow 
morning  I  shall  be  well.  I  am  just  a  little  tired.  .  .  ." 

But,  on  looking  at  her  in  the  light,  my  mother  cried  out, 
alarmed : 

"  Mio  Dio!  your  face  frightens  me.  You  can't  stand 
on  your  feet.  Edith,  Cristina,  quick,  run  upstairs  and 
warm  the  bed.  And  you,  Tullio,  come ;  we  will  carry  her." 

Juliana  resisted  obstinately. 

"  No,  no,  mother;  it  is  nothing,  do  not  be  frightened." 

"  I  will  go  to  Tussi  with  the  carriage,  and  bring  the  doc- 
tor," suggested  Federico.  "  I  will  be  back  in  half  an 
hour." 

"  No,  Federico,  no,"  cried  Juliana  almost  violently,  as 
if  this  proposition  exasperated  her.  "  I  do  not  wish  it. 
The  doctor  can  do  nothing.  I  know  what  I  must  do.  I 
have  everything  upstairs.  Let  us  go  up,  mother.  Dear 
me  !  How  easily  you  are  alarmed  !  Let  us  go  up.  Let 
us  go  up." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  suddenly  recovered  her  strength. 
She  made  several  steps  without  assistance.  Going  up  the 
stairs,  my  mother  and  I  supported  her.  But,  in  her  room, 
she  had  an  attack  of  convulsive  vomiting  that  lasted  several 
minutes.  The  women  began  to  disrobe  her. 

f<  GO  out,  Tullio  \  leave,  the  room,  I  beg  of  you,"  she 


THE    INTRUDER.  133 

said.  "  You  may  return  later.  Mother  will  remain  with 
me.  Do  not  be  uneasy." 

I  went  out.  I  remained  in  an  adjoining  room,  seated  on 
a  divan,  waiting.  I  heard  the  hurried  movements  of  the 
maids  ;  I  was  being  consumed  with  impatience  :  "  When  may 
I  return  ?  When  may  I  find  myself  again  alone  with  her  ? 
I  will  watch  there,  I  will  pass  the  entire  night  at  her  bed- 
side. In  a  few  hours  perhaps  she  will  be  calmer,  she  will 
feel  better.  I  will  stroke  her  hair,  and  perhaps  succeed  in 
lulling  her  to  sleep.  Who  knows  if,  in  that  drowsiness  which 
is  neither  wakefulness  nor  slumber,  she  might  not  say 
1  Come.'  I  have  a  strange  confidence  in  the  efficacy  of  my 
caresses.  I  hope  yet  that  this  night  may  have  a  delightful 
end."  And,  as  always,  in  the  midst  of  the  anguish  that  the 
thoughts  of  Juliana's  sufferings  caused  me,  the  sensual  vi- 
sion acquired  determined  contours,  became  a  clear  and  per- 
sistent vision.  "  White  as  her  night-dress,  in  the  light  of  the 
lamp  that  burned  behind  the  curtains  of  the  alcove,  she 
awoke  after  a  first,  very  short  slumber,  looked  at  me  with 
her  half-closed  eyes,  languishing,  and  murmured :  '  Go  to 
sleep!'" 

Federico  entered. 

"Well,"  he  said  affectionately,  "it  seems  that  it  is 
nothing.  I  have  spoken  to  Miss  Edith  on  the  stairway. 
Will  you  come  down  and  take  something?  The  table  is  set 
downstairs." 

"  No,  I  am  not  hungry  now.  Later  on,  perhaps.  .  .  . 
I  expect  to  be  called." 

"  If  I  am  not  required,  I  will  go." 

"  Go,  Federico;  I  will  come  down  very  soon.     Thanks." 

I  glanced  after  him  as  he  withdrew,  and  once  more  the 
sight  of  my  good  brother  inspired  in  me  a  feeling  of  confi- 
dence j  again  I  felt  my  heart  dilate. 


134  THE    INTRUDER. 

Almost  three  minutes  passed.  The  clock  on  the  wall 
facing  me  ticked  off  the  time  with  the  beats  of  its  pendu- 
lum. The  hands  pointed  to  a  quarter  to  eleven.  As  I  rose 
impatiently  to  go  toward  Juliana's  room,  my  mother  en- 
tered, agitated,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  She  is  quieter  now.  What  she  must  have  is  rest.  Poor 
child!" 

"May  I  go  in?" 

"  Yes;  but  don't  disturb  her." 

As  I  made  a  motion  to  go  cut,  my  mother  recalled  me. 

"Tullio!" 

"What,  mother?" 

She  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"  Tell  me  ...  have  you  seen  the  doctor  since  the 
time  of  the  operation  ?  " 

"Yes,  several  times.     .     .     .     Why?" 

"  Did  he  speak  about  the  danger " 

She  hesitated  and  then  added  : 

"  About  the  danger  Juliana  might  run  by  a  new  preg- 
nancy ? ' ' 

I  had  not  spoken  to  the  doctor,  and  I  did  not  know  what 
to  answer.  In  my  agitation  I  repeated : 

"Why  ?" 

She  still  hesitated. 

"  Have  you  not  noticed  that  Juliana  is  pregnant  ?  " 

The  blow  was  too  sudden  for  me  to  be  able  at  first  to 
grasp  the  truth. 

"  Pregnant  ?  "  I  stammered. 

My  mother  took  my  hands. 

"Well,  well,  Tullio  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know." 

"  You  frighten  me.     So  the  doctor " 

"Yes,  the  doctor " 


THE    INTRUDER.  135 

"  Come,  Tullio,  sit  down." 

She  made  me  sit  down  on  the  divan.  She  looked  at  me 
with  fear,  waiting  for  me  to  speak.  For  several  moments, 
although  she  was  before  my  eyes,  I  ceased  to  see  her.  Then, 
suddenly,  a  brutal  light  burst  in  on  my  mind,  and  the 
drama  was  all  clear  to  me. 

Where  did  I  find  the  strength  to  resist  ?  What  pre- 
served my  reason  ?  Without  doubt  I  drew  from  the  very 
excess  of  my  pain  and  horror  the  heroic  sentiment  that 
saved  me. 

I  said : 

"  I  did  not  know — Juliana  told  me  nothing — I  perceived 
nothing — it  is  a  surprise — yes,  the  doctor  thinks  there  is 
still  some  danger —  That  is  why  the  news  has  made  this 
impression  on  me —  You  know,  Juliana  is  so  weak  now — 
However,  the  doctor  did  not  say  it  was  serious —  The 
operation  was  a  success — we  will  see — we  will  send  for 
him,  we  will  consult  him " 

"  Yes,  that  is  indispensable." 

"  But,  are  you  sure,  mother  ?  Has  Juliana  told  you  ? 
Or " 

"  I  noticed  it  myself.  It  is  impossible  to  be  mistaken. 
Up  to  within  the  last  two  or  three  days,  Juliana  denied  it, 
or,  at  least,  pretended  that  she  was  not  certain.  Knowing 
how  easily  you  are  alarmed,  she  begged  me  to  say  nothing 
to  you.  But  I  wanted  to  tell  you — you  know  Juliana :  she 
takes  so  little  care  of  her  health  !  Just  think.  Since  she 
lives  here,  instead  of  getting  better  she  seems  to  be  getting 
worse  every  day.  Formerly,  a  week  in  the  country  sufficed 
to  make  a  new  woman  of  her,  do  you  remember  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  that  is  true." 

"  One  can  never  take  enough  precautions.  You  must 
write  immediately  to  Doctor  Vebesti." 


136  THE    INTRUDER. 

"Yes,  at  once." 

As  I  felt  incapable  of  controlling  myself  longer  I  arose, 
and  added : 

"I'll  go  to  see  her." 

"Go;  but  let  her  rest  to-night,  let  her  remain  quiet.  I 
am  going  downstairs.  I'll  come  up  again." 

"  Thank  you,  mother." 

I  touched  her  forehead  with  my  lips. 

"  Dear  boy  !  "  she  murmured,  as  she  withdrew. 

I  stopped  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  opposite,  turned 
around,  and  watched  her  gentle  and  still  erect  figure  dis- 
appear. 

I  felt  an  indescribable  sensation,  similar,  without  doubt, 
to  that  which  I  should  have  felt  had  the  entire  house  col- 
lapsed about  me  in  an  explosion.  In  me,  about  me,  all  fell, 
sank  irresistibly  into  an  abyss. 


XI. 


WHO  has  not  at  times  heard  some  unfortunate  being  say : 
"  In  one  hour  I  lived  ten  years."  It  is  something  incon- 
ceivable. Well,  I  understand  it.  During  that  short  inter- 
view with  my  mother,  so  peaceful  apparently,  had  I  not 
lived  ten  years  ?  The  acceleration  of  the  inner  life  of 
man  is  the  most  prodigious  and  frightful  phenomenon  there 
is  in  the  world. 

What  must  be  done  ?  I  was  seized  by  frenzied  desires 
to  flee  far  away  in  the  night,  or  to  run  to  my  room  and 
lock  myself  in,  to  remain  alone  to  contemplate  my  ruin,  to 
review  its  extent.  But  I  was  able  to  resist.  It  was  on  that 
night  that  the  superiority  of  my  nature  was  revealed.  I 
was  able  to  shake  off  every  atrocious  torture  of  my  most 
virile  faculties.  And  I  thought :  "  It  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  none  of  my  actions  should  seem  singular  or  inex- 
plicable, either  to  my  mother  or  to  my  brother,  or  anyone 
else  in  this  house." 

I  stopped  before  the  door  of  Juliana's  room,  powerless  to 
repress  the  physical  trembling  that  shook  me.  But  the 
sound  of  a  footstep  in  the  corridor  determined  me  to  reso- 
lutely enter. 

Miss  Edith  emerged  from  the  alcove,  on  tiptoe.  She 
made  me  a  sign  to  make  no  noise,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  She  is  going  to  sleep." 

And  she  went  out,  softly  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

The  lamp  burned  with  a  tranquil  and  even  light,  suspended 


138  THE    INTRUDER. 

from  the  centre  of  the  ceiling.  Across  a  seat  was  thrown 
the  amaranthine  cloak ;  on  another,  the  black  satin  corset, 
the  corset  that,  at  the  Lilacs,  Juliana  had  removed  during 
rny  brief  absence ;  across  another  chair,  the  gray  gown,  the 
same  that  she  had  worn  with  so  much  distinction  in  the 
beautiful  forest  of  flowering  lilacs.  The  sight  of  these 
objects  upset  me  so  that  I  felt  a  new  desire  to  flee.  But 
I  walked  toward  the  alcove,  and  drew  aside  the  curtains. 
I  saw  the  bed ;  I  saw  the  dark  spot  on  the  pillow  made 
by  the  hair,  but  not  the  face ;  I  saw  the  form  of  the  body 
huddled  up  beneath  the  covers.  In  my  mind  the  brutal 
truth  presented  itself  with  the  most  ignoble  reality.  "  She 
has  been  possessed  by  another."  And  a  series  of  odious 
physical  visions  passed  before  the  eyes  of  my  soul,  those 
eyes  that  I  had  not  the  power  to  close.  And  these  were, 
not  only  the  visions  of  the  things  accomplished,  but  also 
those  that  must  necessarily  take  place.  I  was  forced  to  see, 
with  inexorable  precision,  what  was  about  to  happen  to 
Juliana — my  Dream  !  my  Ideal  ! 

Who  could  have  imagined  a  more  cruel  punishment  ? 
And  all  was  true,  all  was  certain  ! 

When  the  pain  exceeds  the  strength,  one  instinctively 
seeks  in  doubt  a  momentary  extenuation  of  the  intolerable 
suffering;  one  thinks:  "  Perhaps  I  am  mistaken,  perhaps 
my  misfortune  is  not  such  as  it  appears  to  be,  perhaps 
this  excess  of  pain  is  groundless  ? ' '  And  to  prolong  the 
respite,  one's  perplexed  intelligence  is  applied  to  gain 
a  more  exact  idea  of  the  reality.  But  I,  I  had  not  a 
single  moment  of  doubt,  I  had  not  a  single  moment  of 
incertitude. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  explain  the  phenomenon  that 
developed  in  my  consciousness,  which  had  become  extraordi- 
narily lucid.  It  seemed  that,  spontaneously,  by  a  secret 


THE   INTRUDER.  139 

process  realized  in  the  dark  sphere  of  the  inner  being,  all 
the  unperceived  symptoms  that  had  connection  with  the 
horrible  thing  were  coordinated  to  form  a  logical  idea, 
complete,  rational,  definite,  irrefutable;  and  now,  that  idea 
manifested  itself  all  at  once,  surged  up  in  my  consciousness 
with  the  rapidity  of  a  fragment  of  cork  which,  no  longer 
retained  at  the  bottom  of  water  by  hidden  bonds,  floats 
to  the  surface,  there  to  remain,  insubmersible.  Every  symp- 
tom, every  proof,  was  there,  in  perfect  order.  No  effort 
was  needed  to  find  them,  to  choose  them,  to  group  them. 
Insignificant  and  distant  facts  were  illuminated  by  a  new 
light ;  fragments  of  recent  life  regained  their  color.  The 
unaccustomed  aversion  of  Juliana  for  flowers,  for  odors,  her 
strange  agitations,  her  ill-dissimulated  nauseas,  her  sud- 
den pallors,  that  sort  of  continual  preoccupation  visible 
between  her  eyebrows,  the  great  fatigue  indicated  by  certain 
positions;  and  besides,  the  pages  marked  by  the  nail  in  the 
Russian  book,  the  reproach  of  the  old  man  to  the  Count 
Besoukhow,  the  supreme  question  of  the  little  Princess 
Lisa,  and  that  gesture  with  which  Juliana  had  taken  the 
book  from  my  hands ;  and  then  the  scenes  at  the  Lilacs,  the 
tears,  the  sobs,  the  ambiguous  phrases,  the  sibylline  smiles, 
the  almost  mournful  ardors,  the  volubility  of  language, 
almost  insane,  the  evocation  of  death — all  these  signs 
grouped  themselves  around  my  mother's  words,  were  en- 
graved in  the  centre  of  my  soul. 

My  mother  said  :  "  It  is  impossible  to  be  mistaken.  Up  to 
within  two  or  three  days  ago,  Juliana  had  denied  it,  or,  at 
least,  pretended  that  she  was  not  certain.  .  .  .  Knowing 
how  easily  you  are  alarmed,  she  begged  me  to  say  nothing 
to  you."  The  truth  could  not  be  more  evident.  Hence- 
forth, everything  was  certain  ! 

I  entered  the  alcove  and  approached  the  bed.      The  cur- 


140  THE   INTRUDER. 

tains  fell  behind  me;  the  light  became  feebler.  Anxiety 
suspended  my  respiration,  and  all  my  blood  stood  still  in  my 
arteries,  when  I  came  to  the  bedside  and  bent  over  to  see 
more  closely  Juliana's  head,  almost  hidden  by  the  sheet. 
I  do  not  know  what  would  have  occurred,  at  this  moment, 
had  she  raised  her  face  and  spoken. 

Was  she  asleep  ?  The  forehead  only,  as  far  as  the  eye- 
brows, was  visible. 

I  remained  there  for  several  minutes,  standing,  expec- 
tant. But  was  she  asleep  ?  She  was  motionless,  lying  on 
her  side.  From  the  mouth,  hidden  by  the  sheet,  not  the 
slightest  sound  of  respiration  could  be  heard.  The  fore- 
head only,  as  far  as  the  eyebrows,  was  uncovered. 

What  countenance  would  I  have  shown  had  she  perceived 
my  presence  ?  The  hour  was  poorly  chosen  to  interrogate 
her,  for  explanations.  If  she  had  suspected  that  I  knew 
all,  to  what  extremities  might  she  not  have  been  carried 
during  the  night  ?  I  was  therefore  constrained  to  simulate 
tenderness,  I  was  compelled  to  affect  perfect  ignorance,  to 
persist  in  the  expression  of  sentiments  that,  a  few  hours 
ago,  at  the  Lilacs,  had  been  spoken  in  the  most  gentle 
words.  "  This  evening,  to-night,  in  your  bed — you  will  see 
how  kind  I  will  be.  I  will  put  you  to  sleep.  All  night 
long  you  will  sleep  on  my  heart." 

On  looking  around  me  distractedly,  I  discovered  on  the 
carpet  the  slender  and  polished  shoes,  on  the  back  of  a 
chair  the  long,  ash-colored  silken  hose,  the  satin  garters, 
another  object  of  secret  elegance,  all  things  that  my  lover's 
eyes  had  already  delighted  in.  And  the  jealousy  of  my 
senses  gnawed  me  so  furiously  that  it  was  a  miracle  that  I 
restrained  myself  from  throwing  myself  on  Juliana,  from 
awakening  her,  from  reviling  her  with  the  absurd  and 
coarse  words  which  this  sudden  rage  inspired  in  me. 


THE    INTRUDER.  14! 

I  withdrew,  tottering,  and  left  the  alcove.  I  thought, 
with  blind  fright :  "  How  will  it  end  ?  " 

I  was  inclined  to  go  away.  "  I  will  go  down — I  will  tell 
my  mother  that  Juliana  is  asleep,  that  her  slumber  is  very 
calm;  I  will  tell  her  that  I  need  rest.  I  will  take  refuge 
in  my  room.  And  to-morrow  morning  .  .  .  '  But  I 
remained  where  I  was,  perplexed,  incapable  of  crossing  the 
threshold,  assailed  by  a  thousand  fears.  I  turned  again 
toward  the  alcove  by  an  abrupt  movement,  as  if  I  had  felt  a 
look  fixed  on  me.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  curtains  were 
waving  ;  but  I  was  mistaken.  And  yet,  through  the  curtains, 
something  like  a  magnetic  shadow  came  and  penetrated 
me,  something  against  which  I  was  without  resistance.  I 
reentered  the  alcove  with  a  shudder. 

Juliana  still  lay  in  the  same  attitude.  Was  she  asleep  ? 
The  forehead  alone,  as  far  as  the  eyebrows,  was  uncovered. 

I  sat  down  near  the  bedside,  and  waited.  I  looked  at 
that  forehead,  white  as  the  sheet,  delicate  and  pure  as  a 
host,  that  sister's  forehead,  which  I  had  so  many  times  relig- 
iously kissed,  which  my  mother's  lips  had  so  many  times 
touched.  Not  the  slightest  stain  could  be  perceived  on  it. 
It  seemed  the  same  as  it  ever  was.  Yet,  henceforth, 
nothing  in  the  world  could  remove  the  stain  which  my  soul's 
eyes  saw  on  that  white  brow  ! 

Certain  words  which  I  had  spoken  in  the  exaltation  of  in- 
toxication recurred  to  my  memory  :  "  I  will  watch  over  you, 
I  will  read  on  your  face  the  dreams  that  you  will  dream." 
I  thought  also:  "She  repeated  at  every  moment:  'Yes, 
yes.'  "  I  wondered  :  "  What  life  does  she  lead  internally  ? 
What  are  her  projects  ?  What  resolutions  has  she  made  ?  " 
And  I  looked  at  her  forehead.  And,  ceasing  to  consider 
my  own  pain,  I  applied  all  my  powers  to  picture  to  myself 
her  pain,  to  understand  her  pain. 


142  THE    INTRUDER. 

Truly,  her  own  despair  must  be  frightful,  ceaseless,  lim- 
itless. My  punishment  was  also  her  punishment,  and  per- 
haps more  fearful  punishment  still  for  her  than  for  me. 
Over  there  at  the  Lilacs,  in  the  alley,  on  the  bench,  in  the 
house,  she  had  certainly  felt  the  sincerity  of  my  words,  she 
had  certainly  read  my  sincerity  in  my  face,  she  had  believed 
in  the  greatness  of  my  love. 

"  You  were  in  the  house,  while  I  sought  you  afar  off !  Oh  ! 
tell  me,  is  not  this  confession  worth  all  your  tears  ?  Do 
you  not  wish  you  had  shed  even  more,  many  more,  so  as  to 
purchase  this  certitude  ?  " 

"  Yes,  many  more." 

That  is  what  she  had  replied,  with  a  sigh  that,  really, 
had  appeared  to  me  divine. 

"  Yes,  many  more  /  " 

She  would  have  liked  to  shed  other  tears,  she  would 
have  liked  to  suffer  another  martyrdom  as  the  price  of  this 
avowal  !  And,  when  she  saw  at  her  feet,  more  passionate 
than  ever,  the  man  so  long  lost  and  wept  for,  when  she  saw 
opening  before  her  an  unknown  paradise,  she  had  felt  her- 
self to  be  impure,  she  had  the  physical  sensation  of  her 
impurity,  she  had  held  my  head  on  her  breast.  Ah  !  it  is 
truly  incomprehensible  why  her  tears  have  not  burned  my 
face,  that  I  have  been  able  to  drink  them  without  being 
poisoned. 

I  relived  our  entire  day  in  an  instant;  I  saw  again  all 
the  changing  expressions,  even  the  most  furtive,  that  had 
appeared  on  Juliana's  face  since  our  arrival  at  the  Lilacs; 
I  understood  them  all.  A  great  light  illuminated  me. 
Oh  !  when  I  spoke  to  her  of  the  morrow,  when  I  spoke 
to  her  of  the  future — what  terrors  that  word  to-morrow, 
coming  from  my  lips,  must  have  had  !  And  to  my  mem- 
ory recurred  the  short  dialogue  that  we  had  had  on  the 


THE    INTRUDER.  143 

threshold  of  the  balcony,  facing  the  cypress.  She  had 
repeated  in  a  very  low  voice,  with  a  feeble  sigh :  "  Die  !  " 
She  had  spoken  of  approaching  death.  She  had  asked  : 
"  What  would  you  do  if  I  died  suddenly?  If,  for  instance, 
I  died  to-morrow  ?  "  Later  on,  in  our  room,  she  had  cried, 
pressing  me  close:  "No,  no,  Tullio ;  we  must  not  speak 
of  the  future.  Think  of  to-day,  of  the  passing  hour!" 
By  such  actions,  by  such  words,  did  she  not  betray  a  reso- 
lution of  death,  a  tragic  design  ?  It  was  evident  that  she 
had  resolved  to  kill  herself,  that  she  would  kill  herself, 
perhaps  this  very  night  even,  before  the  inevitable  to- 
morrow, since  there  was  no  other  resource  for  her. 

When  the  fright  that  the  thought  of  this  imminent  peril 
caused  me  had  subsided,  I  reflected:  "What  would  have 
the  gravest  consequences,  Juliana's  death,  or  her  preserva- 
tion ?  Since  the  ruin  is  irremediable,  and  the  abyss  bot- 
tomless, an  immediate  catastrophe  would,  perhaps,  be  better 
than  an  indefinite  continuation  of  the  frightful  drama." 
And,  in  imagination,  I  accompanied  the  phases  of  that  new 
maternity,  saw  the  new  being  procreated,  the  intruder  who 
bore  my  name,  who  would  be  my  heir,  who  would  usurp  my 
mother's  caresses  and  those  of  my  daughters,  of  my  brother. 
"  Assuredly,  death  only  can  interrupt  the  fatal  course  of 
these  events.  But  would  the  suicide  remain  secret  ?  By 
what  means  would  Juliana  take  her  life  ?  If  it  were  proved 
that  death  were  voluntary,  what  would  my  mother  and 
brother  think  ?  What  a  blow  that  would  be  to  my  mother  ! 
And  Maria  ?  And  Natalia  ?  And  what  would  I  do,  my- 
self ?" 

The  truth  is  that  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  conceive  of 
my  own  existence  without  Juliana.  I  loved  the  poor  crea- 
ture even  in  her  impurity.  Excepting  that  sudden  attack 
of  anger  which  carnal  jealousy  had  provoked  in  me,  I  had 


144  THE    INTRUDER. 

never  yet  felt  against  her  any  emotion  whatever  of  hate,  or 
of  rancor,  or  of  contempt.  No  thought  of  vengeance  had 
crossed  my  soul.  On  the  contrary,  I  felt  a  profound  com- 
passion for  her.  I  accepted,  since  the  beginning,  all  the 
responsibility  of  her  fall.  A  proud  and  generous  senti- 
ment sustained  me,  exalted  me :  "  She  bent  her  head 
beneath  my  blows,  she  kept  silent,  she  set  me  an  example 
of  virile  courage,  of  heroic  abnegation.  Now,  it  is  my 
turn.  I  must  render  her  the  same.  I  must  save  her,  at  any 
price."  And  this  nobility  of  soul,  this  good  impulse,  came 
to  me  from  her. 

I  drew  closer  to  look  at  her.  She  still  remained  motion- 
less in  the  same  attitude,  with  her  forehead  uncovered.  I 
thought :  "  Is  she  asleep  ?"  And  if,  on  the  contrary,  she 
were  pretending  to  be  asleep,  to  remove  every  suspicion,  to 
make  believe  that  she  is  quiet,  that  she  may  be  left  alone  ? 
Assuredly,  if  it  is  her  project  not  to  live  until  the  morrow, 
she  is  seeking  by  every  means  to  favor  its  execution.  She 
simulates  slumber. 

"  If  her  sleep  were  real,  she  would  not  be  so  quiet,  so 
calm,  with  such  superexcited  nerves  as  she  has.  I  must 
shake  her."  But  I  hesitated.  "  If  she  were  really  asleep  ? 
Sometimes,  after  a  great  output  of  nerve  force,  even  in  the 
midst  of  the  rudest  moral  anxieties,  one  sleeps  a  leaden 
slumber,  like  a  syncope.  Oh  !  that  she  may  slumber  until 
to-morrow  !  And  to-morrow,  that  she  may  arise  recovered, 
be  strong  enough  to  support  the  explanation  that  has  become 
inevitable  between  us!"  I  looked  fixedly  at  that  brow, 
white  as  the  sheet,  and,  on  bending  over  a  little  more,  I 
remarked  that  it  was  dotted  with  perspiration.  A  bead  of 
perspiration  glistened  on  the  eyebrow.  And  that  bead  sug- 
gested to  me  the  idea  of  the  cold  sweat  that  indicates  the 
action  of  narcotic  poisons.  A  sudden  flash  of  suspicion 


THE    INTRUDER.  145 

came  upon  me.  "  Morphine  !  "  Instinctively,  my  glance 
turned  to  the  night  table,  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  to 
look  for  the  small  bottle  marked  with  the  skull  and  cross- 
bones,  familiar  symbols  of  death. 

There,  on  the  table,  were  a  water  bottle,  a  glass,  a  can- 
dlestick, a  handkerchief,  several  glistening  pins ;  that  was 
all.  I  made  a  rapid  and  complete  examination  of  the 
alcove.  Anguish  choked  my  throat.  "  Juliana  has  mor- 
phine;  she  always  has  on  hand  a  certain  quantity  of  it  in 
a  liquid  state  for  her  injections.  I  am  sure  that  she  has 
had  the  idea  of  poisoning  herself.  Where  has  she  hidden 
the  little  bottle?"  Engraved  in  my  mind  I  had  the 
image  of  the  small  glass  vial  that  I  had  seen  in  Juliana's 
hands,  ornamented  with  the  sinister  label  that  pharma- 
cists use,  in  order  to  indicate  a  toxic.  My  excited  imag- 
ination suggested  to  me  :  "  And  if  she  has  already  drunk 
it  ?  That  sweat  .  .  ."  I  trembled  on  my  seat, 
and  I  felt  the  agitation  of  a  rapid  debate.  "  But  when  ? 
How  ?  She  has  not  been  left  alone.  It  requires  only  an 
instant  to  empty  a  bottle.  Yet,  without  doubt,  she  would 
have  vomited.  .  .  .  And  that  attack  of  convulsive 
vomiting,  just  now,  when  she  arrived  at  the  house  ?  Pre- 
meditating suicide,  she  had  doubtless  carried  the  morphine 
with  her.  Was  it  not  possible  that  she  had  drunk  it  before 
arriving  at  the  Badiola,  in  the  carriage,  in  the  dark  ?  In 
fact,  she  had  prevented  Federico  from  going  for  the  doc- 
tor." I  understood  but  imperfectly  the  symptoms  of  mor- 
phine poisoning.  In  my  ignorance,  that  white  and  moist 
brow,  that  perfect  immobility,  overwhelmed  me.  I  was  on 
the  point  of  arousing  her.  "  But  if  I  am  mistaken  ?  She 
will  awake,  and  what  will  I  have  to  say  to  her  ?  "  It  seemed 
to  me  that  the  first  word,  that  the  first  look  exchanged  be- 
tween us,  must  produce  on  me  an  extraordinary  effect,  of  an 


146  THE    INTRUDER. 

unforeseen,  unimaginable  violence.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
would  not  have  the  power  to  control  myself,  to  dissimulate, 
and  that  on  looking  at  me  she  would  divine  immediately 
that  I  knew  all.  And  then  ? 

I  strained  my  ear,  hoping  and  fearing  my  mother's  com- 
ing. And  then  (I  would  not  have  trembled  so  strongly  on 
raising  the  edge  of  a  shroud  to  see  the  face  of  a  dead  per- 
son), I  slowly  uncovered  Juliana's  face. 

She  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Ah!     Is  it  you,  Tullio?" 

Her  voice  was  natural.  And  I  most  unexpectedly  could 
speak. 

"  Were  you  asleep  ?  "  I  said,  avoiding  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  dozed  off." 

"  Then  I  awoke  you.  .  .  .  Forgive  me.  I  wished 
to  uncover  your  mouth.  I  feared  that  your  breathing  might 
be  impeded — that  the  coverlid  would  suffocate  you." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  I  am  warm  now,  too  warm.  Re- 
move one  of  the  coverings,  please." 

I  rose  to  remove  one  of  the  covers.  It'  is  impossible 
for  me  to  define  the  state  of  consciousness  in  which  I  ac- 
complished these  acts,  in  which  I  pronounced  and  heard 
these  words,  while  present  during  these  incidents,  and  which 
happened  as  naturally  as  if  there  had  been  no  change,  as  if 
around  us  there  had  been  no  adultery,  no  disenchantment, 
remorse,  jealousy,  fear,  death,  every  human  atrocity. 

"  Is  it  very  late  ?  "  she  asked  me. 

"  No;  it  is  not  yet  midnight." 

"Is  mother  in  bed?" 

"  No,  not  yet." 

After  a  pause : 

"  And  you — are  you  not  going  to  bed  ?  You  must  be 
tired." 


THE   INTRUDER.  147 

I  knew  not  what  to  answer.     Should  I  reply  that  I  would 
remain  ?      Ask  her  permission  to  stay  ?      Repeat  to  her 
the  tender  words  that  I  had  spoken  in  the  armchair,  in  our 
room,  at  the  Lilacs  ?      But,  if  I  remained,  how  would  / 
pass  the  night  ?    There,  on  the  chair,  watching  her,  or  else 
in   the   bed,    near   her  ?      What  attitude  should  I  take  ? 
Should  I  be  able  to  dissimulate  to  the  end  ? 

She  went  on  : 

II  You  had  better  go,  Tullio — to-night.     ...     I  need 
nothing.     All  I  want  is  rest.     If  you  remain,  it  would  not 
do  me  any  good.     You  had  better  go,  Tullio,  to-night." 

"  But  you  might  want  something." 

"  No.     And,  besides,  Cristina  stays  with  me." 

"I  will  lie  on  the  sofa." 

"  Why  should  you  upset  yourself  ?  You  are  very  tired  : 
that  can  be  seen  in  your  face.  And,  besides,  if  I  knew 
you  were  there  I  could  not  sleep.  Be  good,  Tullio  !  To- 
morrow morning,  early,  you  may  come  and  see  me.  We 
both  need  rest,  now,  complete  rest." 

Her  voice  was  low  and  caressing,  without  any  unusual 
intonation.  Excepting  her  persistence  in  persuading  me 
to  retire,  she  exhibited  no  other  indication  of  the  fatal 
preoccupation.  She  seemed  crushed,  but  calm.  From 
time  to  time  she  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  slumber  weighted 
down  her  eyelids.  What  should  I  do  ?  Leave  her  ?  But 
it  was  precisely  her  calm  that  frightened  me.  Such  a  calm 
could  only  come  to  her  from  the  fixity  of  her  resolution. 
What  to  do?  Everything  considered,  my  very  presence 
during  the  night  would  have  been  useless  if  she  had  pre- 
pared for  suicide  and  provided  herself  with  the  means.  She 
could,  without  any  difficulty,  have  put  her  project  into  exe- 
cution. Was  that  means  really  morphine  ?  And  where 
had  she  hidden  that  little  vial  ?  Beneath  her  pillow  ?  In 


148  THE    INTRUDER. 

the  drawer  of  the  night  table  ?  How  could  I  look  for  it  ? 
I  should  have  to  speak,  to  say  unexpectedly  :  "  I  know  that 
you  want  to  kill  yourself."  But  what  a  scene  would  fol- 
low !  I  could  not  have  kept  silent  about  the  rest.  And 
what  a  night  that  would  have  been  ! 

So  many  perplexities  exhausted  my  energy,  dissolved  it. 

My  nerves  were  unstrung.  The  physical  fatigue  rapidly 
increased.  My  entire  organism  arrived  at  that  condition  of 
extreme  weakness  in  which  the  functions  of  the  will  are  on 
the  point  of  being  suspended,  in  which  the  actions  and 
reactions  cease  to  correspond,  or  cease  to  accomplish  their 
end.  I  felt  myself  incapable  of  resisting  any  longer,  of 
combating,  of  accomplishing  no  matter  what  necessary  act. 
The  sensation  of  my  weakness,  the  sensation  of  the  fatality 
of  what  had  happened  and  what  was  about  to  happen,  still 
paralyzed  me ;  my  being  seemed  to  be  struck  by  a  sudden 
torpor.  I  felt  a  blind  desire  to  hide  myself  again  from  the 
last  and  obscure  consciousness  of  my  being.  In  short,  my 
anguish  led  to  this  desperate  thought:  "  Come  what  will, 
I,  too,  have  the  resource  of  death." 

"Yes,  Juliana,"  I  said,  "I  will  leave  you  in  peace. 
Sleep.  We  will  see  one  another  to-morrow." 

"  You  can  scarcely  keep  your  eyes  open." 

"  No,  it  is  true,  I  am  very  tired.     Good-by ;  good  night." 

"  Will  you  not  give  me  a  kiss,  Tullio  ?  " 

A  shudder  of  instinctive  repugnance  passed  through  my 
body.  I  hesitated. 

At  that  moment  my  mother  entered. 

"  What !  you  are  awake  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Yes,  but  I'm  going  to  sleep  again  immediately." 

"  I  have  been  to  see  the  children.  Natalia  is  not  asleep. 
She  said :  '  Has  mamma  come  back  ? '  She  wanted  to 
come  ." 


THE    INTRUDER.  149 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  Edith  to  bring  her  to  me  ?  Is 
Edith  already  in  bed  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Good  night,  Juliana,"  I  interrupted. 

I  approached  her,  and  bent  over  to  kiss  the  cheek  that 
she  offered  me,  raising  herself  a  little  on  her  elbow. 

"  Good  night,  mother,  I  am  going  to  bed.  My  eyes  are 
closing  with  sleep." 

"  Won't  you  take  something  ?  Federico  is  still  waiting 
for  you  down-stairs." 

"No,  mother;  I  do  not  care  for  anything.  Good 
night." 

I  also  kissed  my  mother's  cheek,  and  I  left  hastily,  with- 
out glancing  at  Juliana;  I  collected  the  little  strength  left 
me,  and  scarcely  had  I  crossed  the  threshold  than  I  began 
to  run  to  my  room,  fearing  to  fall  before  I  reached  the 
door. 

I  threw  myself  on  my  bed  face  down.  I  was  seized  by  that 
spasm  which  precedes  great  paroxysms  of  tears,  when  the 
suffocation  of  anguish  is  about  to  burst  out,  when  the  tension 
is  about  to  be  relaxed.  But  the  spasm  was  protracted,  and 
the  tears  did  not  come.  It  was  horrible  suffering.  An 
enormous  weight  bore  my  members  down,  a  weight  that  I 
felt,  not  at  the  surface,  but  within,  as  if  my  bones  and 
muscles  had  become  masses  of  lead.  And  my  brain  still 
thought  on  !  And  my  consciousness  still  remained  vigilant ! 

"  No,  I  must  not  leave  her.  No,  I  must  not  agree  to  let 
her  leave  me  thus.  When  my  mother  retires,  she  will  kill 
herself — that  is  sure.  Oh,  the  sound  of  her  voice,  when 
she  expressed  the  desire  to  see  Natalia  !  "  A  hallucination 
suddenly  seized  upon  me.  My  mother  left  the  chamber. 
Juliana  sat  up  in  bed,  and  listened  intently.  Then,  cer- 
tain at  last  of  being  alone,  she  took  the  bottle  of  mor- 


150  THE    INTRUDER. 

phine  from  the  night  table.  She  did  not  hesitate  a  second, 
'but  with  a  determined  gesture  emptied  it  at  one  gulp,  cov- 
ered herself  again  with  the  bedclothes,  and  lay  on  her  back 
to  await  the  end.  .  .  .  The  imaginary  vision  of  the 
cadaver  acquired  such  an  intensity  that,  like  one  demented, 
I  arose.  I  made  three  or  four  turns  in  the  room,  hurt  my- 
self against  the  furniture,  stumbled  over  the  carpet,  with 
terrified  gestures.  I  opened  a  window. 

The  night  was  calm,  filled  with  the  monotonous  and  con- 
tinuous croaking  of  frogs.  The  stars  were  twinkling.  The 
Great  Bear  scintillated  before  me,  very  brightly.  Time 
passed. 

I  remained  for  several  minutes  at  the  balcony,  in  con- 
templation, my  eyes  fixed  on  the  great  constellation  that, 
to  my  troubled  sight,  seemed  to  come  nearer.  I  did  not 
really  know  what  I  expected.  My  mind  wandered.  I 
had  a  singular  sensation  of  the  space  of  that  immense 
sky.  Suddenly,  during  a  sort  of  irresolute  suspension,  as 
if,  in  the  depth  of  unconsciousness,  some  obscure  effluvium 
had  acted  on  my  being,  there  spontaneously  surged  up 
in  me  the  question  that  I  had  not  as  yet  understood : 
"  What  have  you  done  to  me?"  And  the  vision  of  the 
cadaver,  for  an  instant  forgotten,  reappeared  before  my 
eyes. 

My  horror  was  such  that,  without  knowing  what  I  wished 
to  do,  I  turned  about,  left  the  room  precipitately,  and 
directed  my  steps  towards  Juliana's  room. 

I  met  Miss  Edith  in  the  corridor. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from,  Edith  ?  "  I  asked. 

I  saw  that  my  appearance  stupefied  her. 

"  I  took  Natalia  to  Signora,  who  wished  to  see  her ;  but  I 
had  to  leave  her  there.  It  was  impossible  to  make  her  go 
back  to  her  own  bed.  She  cried  so  hard  that  Signora  con- 


THE   INTRUDER.  151 

sented  to  keep  her  with  her.  Let  us  hope  that  Maria  will 
not  waken  up." 

"Ah!  so  then     .     .     ." 

My  heart  beat  so  violently  that  I  could  not  speak  con- 
nectedly. 

"  Then  Natalia  is  sleeping  with  her  mother." 

"Yes,  signor." 

"  And  Maria — let  us  go  and  see  Maria." 

Emotion  choked  me.  That  night,  at  least,  Juliana  was 
safe.  It  was  impossible  that  she  should  think  of  dying, 
with  her  little  girl  by  her  side.  By  a  miracle,  the  affec- 
tionate caprice  of  the  child  had  saved  the  mother.  "  May 
God  bless  her  !  "  Before  looking  at  Maria,  who  was  sleep- 
ing, I  looked  at  the  empty  bed,  that  still  retained  the 
impress  of  the  child's  figure.  I  felt  strange  desires  to 
kiss  the  pillow,  to  feel  if  the  depression  were  still  warm. 
Edith's  presence  embarrassed  me.  I  turned  toward 
Maria.  I  bent  over  her,  holding  my  breath ;  I  looked  at 
her  for  a  long  time,  I  sought  one  by  one  the  known  resem- 
blances she  bore  toward  me,  I  almost  counted  the  delicate 
veins  that  could  be  seen  on  her  temple,  cheek,  and  neck. 
She  was  sleeping  on  one  side,  her  head  thrown  back,  so  as 
to  display  the  whole  of  the  neck  beneath  the  raised  chin. 
The  teeth,  fine  as  grains  of  pure  rice,  disclosed  their  white- 
ness through  the  half-closed  mouth.  The  eyelashes,  long 
like  those  of  her  mother,  shed  a  shadow  over  the  hollows 
of  the  eyes,  that  extended  even  to  the  cheek  bones.  The 
delicacy  of  a  precious  flower,  an  extreme  finesse,  distin- 
guished these  infantile  traits,  in  which  I  felt  my  blood, 
refined,  flow. 

Had  I  ever,  since  the  birth  of  these  two  creatures,  felt 
for  them  a  sensation  so  deep,  so  sweet,  so  sad  ? 

I  could  scarcely  tear  myself  away  from  there.     I  would 


152  THE   INTRUDER. 

have  liked  to  sit  down  between  the  two  little  beds,  and  rest 
my  head  on  the  edge  of  the  empty  one,  to  await  thus  the 
morrow. 

"  Good  night,  Edith,"  I  said,  as  I  left. 

My  voice  trembled,  but  it  no  longer  trembled  in  the 
same  manner. 

As  soon  as  I  reached  my  room,  I  threw  myself  again  face 
down  on  the  bed.  And,  at  last,  I  burst  into  distracted 
sobs. 


XII. 


WHEN  I  awoke  from  the  heavy  and,  so  to  speak,  brute 
slumber  that,  at  some  moment  during  the  night,  had  sud- 
denly overwhelmed  me,  I  could  scarcely  regain  an  exact 
idea  of  the  reality. 

But  soon  my  mind,  freed  from  the  nocturnal  exaltations, 
stood  face  to  face  with  the  cold,  naked,  implacable  reality. 
What  were  my  recent  anguishes  in  comparison  with  the 
fright  that  invaded  me  then  ?  One  must  live  !  And  that 
had  the  same  effect  on  me  as  if  someone  had  presented  me 
with  a  deep  cup,  saying:  "  If  you  wish  to  drink,  if  you 
wish  to  live  to-day,  you  must  drain  into  this  cup,  even  to 
the  last  drop,  the  blood  of  your  heart."  A  repugnance,  a 
disgust,  an  indefinable  repulsion,  assailed  the  inmost  part 
of  my  being.  And  yet  I  must  live ;  I  must,  to-day  too, 
accept  life.  But,  above  all,  I  must  act. 

The  comparison  that  I  made,  to  myself,  between  this 
actual  awakening  and  that  which  I  had  dreamed  and  hoped 
for,  the  evening  before  at  the  Lilacs,  contributed  also  to 
revolt  me.  "It  is  impossible,"  I  thought,  "  that  I  can 
accept  such  a  situation ;  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  rise, 
dress  myself,  leave  this  room,  see  Juliana  again,  speak  to 
her,  continue  to  dissimulate  before  my  mother;  that  I 
should  wait  fora  suitable  moment  for  a  definite  understand- 
ing between  us,  that  in  this  interview  I  should  establish  the 
conditions  of  our  future  relations.  That  is  impossible. 


154  THE    INTRUDER. 

But  what  then  ?  Destroy  with  one  blow,  and  radically,  all 
that  was  suffering  in  me.  Deliver  myself — free  myself. 
There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done."  And,  on  considering 
the  facility  of  the  act,  on  imagining  the  rapidity  of  its 
execution,  the  explosion  of  the  firearm,  the  immediate 
effect  of  the  ball,  the  darkness  that  would  follow,  I  felt 
through  my  entire  body  a  singular,  agonized  thrill,  mingled, 
however,  with  a  sensation  of  solace,  almost  of  sweetness. 
"  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done"  And,  in  spite  of  the 
torment  that  the  anxiety  of  knowing  gave  me,  I  thought 
with  relief  that  I  should  have  nothing  to  know,  that  that 
anxiety  even  would  instantaneously  cease — that,  in  short,  all 
would  be  at  an  end. 

I  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  my  brother's  voice 
cried : 

"  Are  you  not  up  yet,  Tullio  ?     May  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Come  in,  Federico." 

He  entered. 

"  Do  you  know  it  is  after  nine  o'clock  ?  " 

"  I  fell  asleep  very  late,  and  I  was  very  tired." 

"  How  do  you  feel  ?" 

"So,  so." 

"  Mother  is  up.  She  told  me  that  Juliana  is  feeling 
quite  well.  Shall  I  open  your  window  ?  It  is  a  wonderful 
day." 

He  opened  the  window.  A  wave  of  fresh  air  filled  the 
room ;  the  curtains  swelled  like  two  sails ;  outside  could  be 
seen  the  azure  of  the  sky. 

"  Do  you  see  ?  " 

The  bright  light  doubtless  disclosed  the  signs  of  my  dis- 
tress on  my  face  ;  for  he  added  : 

"  Were  you  ill,  too,  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  was  a  little  feverish." 


THE    INTRUDER.  155 

Federico  looked  at  me  with  his  clear  blue  eyes ;  and,  at 
that  moment,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  bore  on  my  soul  the 
entire  burden  of  future  lies  and  dissimulations.  Oh  !  if  he 
had  known  ! 

But,  as  usual,  his  presence  put  to  flight  the  cowardice 
that  commenced  to  crush  me  down.  A  false  energy,  like 
that  communicated  by  a  drop  of  cordial,  restored  my  self- 
command  to  me.  I  thought :  "  How  would  he  have  acted 
in  my  place  ?  "  My  past,  my  education,  the  very  essence 
of  my  nature,  contradicted  every  probability  of  a  similar 
occurrence ;  but,  at  least,  this  much  was  certain  :  in  case 
of  a  misfortune,  similar  or  dissimilar,  he  would  have  dis- 
played the  conduct  of  a  strong  and  forgiving  man,  he  would 
have  heroically  faced  the  pain,  he  would  have  preferred  to 
sacrifice  himself  rather  than  to  sacrifice  the  other. 

"  Let  me  feel,"  said  he,  approaching. 

He  touched  my  forehead  with  his  open  palm,  and  felt  my 
pulse. 

"It  has  left  you,  it  seems  to  me.  But  how  unsteady  your 
pulse  is  !  " 

"  Let  me  get  up,  Federico ;  it  is  late." 

"  To-day,  after  noon,  I  am  going  to  the  Assoro  woods.  If 
you  wish  to  come,  I  will  have  Orlando  saddled  for  you. 
Do  you  remember  the  woods  ?  How  unfortunate  that 
Juliana  is  not  well  !  Otherwise  we  would  have  taken  her 
with  us.  She  could  see  the  ricks  on  fire." 

When  he  mentioned  Juliana  it  seemed  as  if  his  voice 
became  more  affectionate,  softer,  and,  so  to  speak,  more 
fraternal.  Oh  !  if  he  had  known  ! 

"  Good-by,  Tullio.  I  am  going  to  work.  When  will  you 
begin  to  help  me  ?" 

"  This  very  day,  to-morrow,  whenever  you  wish." 

He  began  to  laugh. 


156  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  What  enthusiasm  !  But  that's  enough  ;  I  will  see  you 
at  work.  Good-by,  Tullio. ' ' 

He  went  out  with  his  light  and  free  step,  for  he  was 
always  stimulated  by  the  precept  inscribed  on  the  sun-dial : 
Hora  est  benefaciendi. 


XIII. 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  when  I  left  my  room.  On  that  April 
morning,  the  bright  light  that  inundated  the  Badiola  by  the 
open  windows  and  balconies  made  me  timid.  How  could 
I  wear  my  mask  in  such  a  light  ? 

Before  entering  Juliana's  apartment,  I  wished  to  see  my 
mother. 

"You  rose  late,"  she  said,  on  seeing  me.  "How  are 
you?" 

"Very  well." 

"You  are  pale." 

"  I  think  I  had  a  little  fever  in  the  night.  But  it  is  gone 
now. ' ' 

"  Have  you  seen  Juliana  ?  " 

"Not  yet." 

"  She  wished  to  get  up,  the  dear  girl  !  She  said  that  she 
no  longer  feels  ill ;  but  her  face  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  going  to  her." 

"  You  must  not  neglect  to  write  to  the  doctor.  Do  not 
listen  to  Juliana.  Write  this  very  day." 

"  Did  you  tell  her     ...     that  I  know?" 

"  Yes,  I  told  her  that  you  know." 

"  I  am  going,  mother." 

I  left  her  in  front  of  her  great  walnut-wood  closets  per- 
fumed with  orris,  in  which  two  women  were  piling  the 
beautiful  washed  linen,  the  pride  of  the  Hermils.  Maria, 
in  the  piano-room,  was  taking  her  lesson  from  Miss  Edith, 


158  THE   INTRUDER. 

and  the  chromatic  scales,  rapid  and  even,  succeeded  one 
another.  Pietro  passed,  the  most  faithful  of  the  servants, 
white-haired,  somewhat  bent,  bearing  a  tray  of  glasses  that 
resounded  because  his  arms  trembled  with  age.  The  entire 
Badiola,  bathed  in  air  and  light,  had  an  aspect  of  tranquil 
joy.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  goodness  shed  throughout 
— like  the  subtle  and  inextinguishable  smile  of  the  gods 
Lares. 

Never  before  had  that  sensation,  that  smile,  penetrated  to 
my  soul  so  deeply.  And  that  great  peace,  that  great  good- 
ness, enveloped  the  ignoble  secret  which  Juliana  and  I  were 
condemned  to  keep  without  dying  of  it ! 

"  And  now  ?"  I  thought,  at  the  height  of  my  anguish, 
wandering  in  the  corridor  as  a  lost  stranger  might  have 
done,  incapable  of  directing  my  steps  toward  the  dreaded 
place,  as  if  my  body  refused  obedience  to  the  impulsions 
imposed  upon  it  by  my  will.  "  And  now  ?  She  knows  that 
I  know  the  truth.  Between  us,  henceforth,  all  dissimula- 
tion is  useless.  Necessity  imposes  upon  us  to  face  one 
another,  to  speak  of  the  frightful  thing.  But  it  is  impos- 
sible that  this  meeting  should  take  place  this  morning. 
The  consequences  of  it  cannot  be  foreseen ;  and  now,  more 
than  ever,  it  is  necessary,  absolutely  necessary,  that  not 
one  of  our  actions  should  seem  singular  or  inexplicable, 
neither  to  my  mother  nor  to  my  brother,  nor  to  anyone 
else  in  this  house.  My  agitation  of  last  evening,  my 
uneasiness,  my  grief,  can  be  explained  by  the  preoccupa- 
tion of  the  peril  of  Juliana's  condition;  but  logically,  in 
others'  eyes,  such  preoccupation  should  make  me  more 
tender  toward  her,  more  zealous,  more  eager  than  ever. 
To-day,  my  prudence  must  be  extreme.  To-day,  I  must 
avoid  a  scene  with  Juliana,  cost  what  it  may.  To-day,  I 
must  avoid  any  occasion  of  remaining  with  her  en  tete-a- 


THE   INTRUDER.  159 

tete.  But  I  must  also  find,  without  delay,  means  to  make 
her  understand  the  feeling  that  determined  my  attitude  in 
regard  to  her,  the  intention  that  directs  my  conduct.  And 
if  she  persists  in  the  will  to  kill  herself  ?  If  she  had  only 
deferred  its  execution  a  few  hours  ?  If  she  were  already 
watching  for  an  opportune  moment  ?  " 

That  fear  cut  short  my  loitering,  and  forced  me  to  action. 
I  resembled  one  of  those  Oriental  soldiers  who  are  forced 
into  battle  by  blows  of  a  cudgel. 

I  directed  my  steps  toward  the  piano-room.  On  seeing 
me,  Maria  interrupted  her  scales  and  ran  toward  me,  light 
and  joyous,  as  toward  a  liberator.  She  had  the  grace,  the 
agility,  the  lightness,  of  winged  creatures.  I  raised  her  in 
my  arms  to  kiss  her. 

"Will  you  take  me  out  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  am  tired. 
Miss  Edith  has  kept  me  here  for  an  hour.  I  cannot  stand 
any  more.  Take  me  out  with  you.  Let  us  go  for  a  walk 
before  breakfast." 

"Where?" 

"  Wherever  you  like." 

"  Let  us  go,  then,  and  see  mamma  first." 

"  Yes  ;  yesterday  you  were  at  the  Lilacs,  and  we  had  to 
stay  at  the  Badiola.  It  was  you,  you  alone,  who  would  not 
consent.  Mamma  was  quite  willing.  Naughty  papa  !  We 
should  like  to  go  there.  Tell  me  how  you  amused  your- 
selves." 

The  child  prattled  on  like  a  bird,  delightfully.  The 
ceaseless  chatter  kept  company  with  my  anguish,  while  we 
were  going  toward  Juliana's  apartment.  I  hesitated;  but 
Maria  knocked  at  the  door,  crying : 

"Mamma!" 

Without  suspecting  my  presence,  Juliana  came  to  open 
the  door  herself.  She  saw  me.  She  started  violently,  as 


l6o  THE    INTRUDER. 

if  she  had  seen  a  phantom,  a  spectre,  some  terrifying 
thing. 

"  Is  it  you  ?"  she  stammered,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  I 
scarcely  heard  her. 

And,  while  she  spoke,  her  lips  blanched.  After  the  start, 
she  became  suddenly  more  rigid  than  a  Hermes. 

And  there,  on  the  threshold,  we  looked  at  each  other, 
read  each  other's  faces ;  for  an  instant,  even  our  souls  were 
fixed  upon  each  other.  All  about  us  disappeared;  between 
us,  all  was  said,  all  was  understood,  everything  was  decided, 
in  the  space  of  one  second. 

What  happened  next  ?  I  do  not  know,  I  cannot  remem- 
ber. I  remember  that,  for  some  time,  I  had  an  intermittent 
consciousness,  so  to  speak,  of  what  happened,  with  a  suc- 
cession of  short  eclipses.  It  was,  it  seemed  to  me,  a  phe- 
nomenon analogous  to  that  which  results  from  the  enfeeble- 
ment  of  the  voluntary  attention  in  the  case  of  certain 
patients.  I  lost  the  faculty  of  being  attentive ;  I  no  longer 
saw,  I  no  longer  seized  the  sense  of  words,  I  no  longer 
understood.  Then,  a  moment  later,  I  recovered  that  fac- 
ulty, examined  the  things  and  persons  about  me,  I  became 
attentive  and  conscious. 

Juliana  was  seated,  and  held  Natalia  on  her  knees.  I, 
too,  had  taken  a  seat.  And  Maria  ran  from  her  to  me,  from 
me  to  her,  incessantly,  with  endless  prattle,  provoking  her 
sister,  asking  us  a  number  of  questions  which  we  only 
answered  by  a  nod  of  the  head.  That  lively  chatter  broke 
our  silence.  In  one  of  the  fragments  of  the  phrases  that  I 
noticed,  Maria  said  to  her  sister : 

"  Ah  !  is  it  true  that  you  slept  with  mamma  last  night?  " 

"  Yes,  because  I  am  little." 

"  Oh  !  well,  to-night  it's  my  turn.  Is  it  not,  mamma  ? 
Take  me  in  your  bed  to-night,  mamma." 


THE   INTRUDER.  l6l 

Juliana  did  not  smile.  She  remained  silent,  and  seemed 
absorbed.  She  had  on  her  knees  Natalia,  whose  shoulders 
were  turned  toward  her,  and  whose  arms  were  around  her 
waist ;  her  joined  hands  rested  in  the  little  girl's  lap,  whiter 
than  the  little  white  dress  on  which  they  reposed,  taper, 
painful,  so  painful  that  they  themselves  revealed  to  me  an 
immensity  of  sorrow.  Juliana  remained  bent,  and,  as 
Natalia's  head  brushed  her  mouth,  she  seemed  to  press  her 
lips  to  the  child's  curls ;  in  such  a  manner  that,  when  I 
glanced  at  her,  I  could  not  see  the  expression  of  her  eyes, 
but  saw  only  her  lowered  eyelids,  somewhat  reddened,  and 
I  was  constantly  agitated  internally  by  this,  as  if  through 
them  I  could  distinguish  the  fixity  of  the  pupils  that  they 
covered. 

Was  she  waiting  for  me  to  say  something  ?  Were  inex- 
pressible words  rising  to  those  hidden  lips  ? 

When  finally,  by  an  effort,  I  conquered  the  condition  of 
inertia  in  which  extraordinary  alternations  of  lucidity  and 
darkness  had  succeeded  each  other,  I  said,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  that  I  would  have  used,  I  believe,  in  continuing  a 
conversation  already  begun,  by  adding  new  words  to  words 
already  spoken — I  said  slowly  : 

"  Mother  wants  me  to  send  for  Doctor  Vebesti.  I  have 
promised  to  write.  I  will  write." 

She  did  not  raise  her  eyelids;  she  remained  mute. 
Maria,  in  her  innocence,  looked  at  her  with  surprise ;  then 
she  looked  at  me,  too. 

I  rose  to  go  out. 

"  To-day,  after  lunch,  I  will  go  with  Federico  to  the 
Assoro  woods.  Shall  we  see  one  another  this  evening  on 
my  return  ?  ' ' 

She  made  no  movement  to  answer.     Then  I  repeated,  in 
a  voice  that  conveyed  a  thousand  things  understood ; 
ii 


162  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  Shall  we  see  one  another  this  evening  on  my  return  ?  " 
From  between  her  lips,  hidden  among  Natalia's  curls, 
came  like  a  sigh  : 

"Yes." 


XIV. 


IN  the  violence  of  my  multiple  and  contrary  agitations, 
in  the  first  tumult  of  pain,  beneath  the  menace  of  immi- 
nent perils,  I  had  not  yet  had  the  leisure  to  think  of  the 
Other.  Moreover,  from  the  very  first,  I  had  not  conceived 
even  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  of  my  former  suspicion.  In 
my  mind,  the  Other  had  immediately  taken  the  form  of 
Filippo  Arborio,  and  from  the  first  outburst  of  carnal  jealousy 
that  had  seized  me  in  the  alcove,  it  was  his  abominable 
image  which  was  coupled  with  that  of  Juliana  in  a  series  of 
horrible  visions. 

Even  now,  while  Federico  and  I  trotted  toward  the  forest, 
along  the  banks  of  the  tortuous  river,  contemplated  so  pain- 
fully on  the  afternoon  of  Holy  Saturday,  the  Other  trotted 
beside  us.  Between  my  brother  and  me  interposed  the 
image  of  Filippo  Arborio,  revived  by  my  hate,  animated  by 
my  hate  with  life  so  intense  that,  on  regarding  it  with  a 
sensation  of  reality,  I  felt  a  physical  spasm,  something 
similar  to  the  savage  quivering  that  I  had  more  than  once 
felt  on  the  duelling  field,  at  the  signal  of  attack,  when  face 
to  face  with  an  adversary. 

My  brother's  presence  extraordinarily  increased  my  un- 
easiness. Compared  with  Federico,  that  man's  face,  so 
thin,  so  nervous,  so  feminine,  grew  smaller,  became  impover- 
ished, seemed  contemptible  and  ignoble  to  me.  Beneath 
the  influence  of  the  new  ideal  of  virile  strength  and  sim- 


164  THE    INTRUDER. 

plicity  that  my  brother's  example  inspired  in  me,  I  not 
only  hated,  but  I  despised  that  complicated  and  equivocal 
being,  who  yet  belonged  to  my  own  race,  and  who  had 
several  particularities  in  his  cerebral  constitution  in  com- 
mon with  me,  to  which  his  works  of  art  bore  witness.  I 
pictured  to  myself  a  type  of  one  of  those  literary  men, 
affected  by  the  saddest  maladies  of  the  mind,  a  libertine, 
cruelly  curious,  hardened  by  the  habit  of  cold  analysis  of 
the  warmest  and  most  spontaneous  passions  of  the  soul, 
accustomed  to  consider  every  human  creature  as  a  subject 
of  pure  psychological  speculation,  incapable  of  love,  inca- 
pable of  a  generous  action,  of  an  abnegation,  of  a  sacrifice, 
hardened  in  falsehood,  enervated  by  disgust,  lascivious, 
cynical,  cowardly. 

Such  was  the  man  who  had  seduced  Juliana,  but  who  had 
certainly  not  loved  her.  Did  not  the  very  manner  appear 
in  the  dedication  written  on  the  fly-leaf  of  The  Secret,  in 
that  emphatic  dedication,  the  only  document  known  to  me 
that  bore  on  the  relations  between  the  romancer  and  my 
wife  ?  To  take  by  assault  the  "  Ivory  Tower,"  to  corrupt 
a  character  whom  public  opinion  declared  to  be  incorrup- 
tible, to  experiment  with  a  method  of  seduction  on  so  rare 
a  subject,  that  was  an  enterprise,  difficult  but  full  of  attrac- 
tion, entirely  worthy  of  the  refined  artist,  the  abstractor  of 
physiological  quintessence  who  had  written  The  True  Cath- 
olic and  Angelica  Doni. 

The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  the  facts  appeared  to 
me  in  their  ugliest  crudity.  Filippo  Arborio  had  certainly 
made  Juliana's  acquaintance  during  one  of  those  crises 
when  the  woman  of  whom  people  say,  "  She  has  a  soul," 
after  a  long  period  of  loneliness,  feels  herself  overcome 
by  poetical  aspirations,  by  indefinable  desires,  vague  lan- 
guors— all  those  phenomena  which  are  only  the  masks  that 


THE    INTRUDER.  165 

disguise  passion.  Filippo  Arborio,  with  his  experience, 
had  divined  the  special  physical  state  of  the  woman  whom 
he  coveted,  and  had  made  use  of  the  most  appropriate  and 
the  surest  method ;  that  is  to  say,  he  had  spoken  of  the 
ideal,  of  superior  regions,  of  mystical  alliance,  while  his 
thoughts  were  turned  in  more  material  channels.  And 
Juliana,  the  "  Ivory  Tower,"  the  great  silent  creature  made 
of  ductile  gold  and  steel,  the  unique,  had  been  captured 
by  the  old  trick,  had  allowed  herself  to  be  taken  in  the 
old  snare,  had,  she  also,  obeyed  the  old  law  as  to  the  frailty 
of  woman. 

A  horrible  irony  tortured  my  soul.  I  seemed  to  have, 
not  in  the  mouth  but  in  the  heart,  the  convulsion  caused 
by  the  herb  that  produces  death  by  making  one  hysterical 
with  laughter. 

I  spurred  my  horse  and  put  him  to  a  gallop  on  the  steep 
bank  of  the  river. 

The  bank  was  dangerous,  with  very  precipitous  bends, 
and  made  more  menacing  in  some  places  by  deep  holes, 
obstructed  in  others  by  the  branches  of  great  gnarled  trees, 
in  still  others  traversed  by  enormous  roots  close  to  the 
ground.  I  was  perfectly  conscious  of  the  peril  to  which  I 
exposed  myself ;  yet,  instead  of  tightening  the  rein,  I  still 
urged  the  beast  forward,  not  with  the  intention  of  facing 
death,  but  because  I  sought  in  danger  a  respite  from  my 
intolerable  torture.  I  already  knew  the  efficacy  of  such 
madness.  Ten  years  before,  when  still  very  young  and 
while  an  attache  of  the  embassy  at  Constantinople,  in  order 
to  overcome  an  attack  of  grief  caused  by  the  recollection 
of  a  recent  passion,  I  entered  on  horseback,  one  moonlight 
night,  one  of  the  Mussulman  cemeteries  crowded  with 
tombs,  and  I  rode  on  the  incline  of  polished  stones,  ex- 
posing myself  a  thousand  times  to  the  risk  of  a  fatal  fall. 


l66  THE    INTRUDER. 

Death,  mounted  with  me  on  the  crupper,  overshadowed 
every  other  care. 

«  Tullio  !  Tullio  !  "  cried  Federico  after  me.  "  Stop  ! 
Stop!" 

I  paid  no  attention  to  him.  It  is  marvellous  that  a 
dozen  times  I  escaped  crushing  in  my  forehead  against  the 
horizontal  branches.  It  is  marvellous  that  a  dozen  times  I 
prevented  my  horse  from  stumbling  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree.  A  dozen  times,  at  difficult  passages,  I  saw  a  certain 
fall  into  the  river  that  glistened  beneath  my  feet.  But 
when  I  heard  another  gallop  behind  me,  when  I  perceived 
Federico  was  following  me  with  loosened  rein,  I  became 
frightened  for  him,  and  I  tightened  the  bit  suddenly.  The 
poor  animal  reared  up,  remained  an  instant  upright  as  if  to 
make  a  plunge  into  the  river,  and  then  came  to  a  standstill, 
trembling. 

"Are  you  mad  ?"  cried  Federico  to  me  when  he  came 
up  to  me,  very  pale. 

"  Did  I  frighten  you  ?  Forgive  me,  I  did  not  think 
there  was  any  danger.  It  was  to  try  the  horse  ;  and  then  I 
could  not  control  him — he  is  a  little  hard  in  the  mouth." 

"  Orlando  hard  in  the  mouth  !  " 

"  Don't  you  find  him  so  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly,  with  an  uneasy  expression.  .  I 
attempted  a  smile.  His  unusual  pallor  pained  me  and 
aroused  my  sympathy. 

"  I  do  not  understand  how  you  escaped  breaking  your 
head  against  a  tree ;  I  cannot  imagine  how  it  is  you  were 
not  thrown." 

"  And  you?" 

To  follow  me,  he  had  exposed  himself  to  the  same  peril, 
perhaps  to  a  still  greater  one  ;  because  his  horse  was  heavier, 
and  he  had  had  to  put  him  at  his  full  speed  for  fear  of  not 


THE    INTRUDER.  167 

joining  me  in  time.  We  both  looked  back  at  the  distance 
just  covered. 

"It  is  a  veritable  miracle,"  he  said.  "To  get  out 
of  the  Assoro  is  almost  impossible.  Just  look  !  " 

We  looked  down  at  the  deadly  river  that  rolled  beneath 
our  feet.  Deep,  shining,  rapid,  full  of  whirlpools  and 
gulfs,  the  Assoro  ran  between  two  chalky  cliffs,  with  a 
silence  that  rendered  it  still  more  sinister.  The  country 
harmonized  with  that  treacherous  and  menacing  aspect. 
The  sky,  which  early  in  the  afternoon  was  covered  with 
vapors,  was  now  overcast  with  diffused  reflections  of  the 
tangle  of  reddish  brushwood  that  still  survived  to  the 
spring.  The  dead  leaves  mingled  with  the  growth  of 
new  leaves,  the  dried  brambles  with  the  green  shoots,  the 
dead  with  the  newly  born  vegetation,  in  an  inextricable, 
symbolic  confusion.  Above  the  agitated  surface  of  the 
river,  above  that  incongruous  thicket,  the  sky  blanched, 
faded  away,  seemed  to  dissolve. 

"An  unexpected  fall,  and  I  should  have  ceased  to  think, 
I  should  have  ceased  to  suffer,  I  should  have  ceased  to  sup- 
port the  weight  of  my  miserable  flesh.  But  perhaps  I 
should  have  dragged  my  brother  with  me  down  the  preci- 
pice ;  and  my  brother's  life  is  a  model  of  nobleness,  my 
brother  is  a  Man.  I  escaped  by  a  miracle,  as  he  escaped 
by  a  miracle.  My  madness  has  made  him  run  a  supreme 
risk.  With  him  would  have  disappeared  a  world  of  beauty 
and  of  goodness.  What  is  this  fatality  that  condemns  me 
to  be  harmful  to  those  who  love  me  ? ' ' 

I  looked  at  Federico.  He  had  become  thoughtful  and 
grave.  I  did  not  dare  question  him,  but  I  felt  a  poignant 
remorse  at  having  grieved  him.  Of  what  was  he  thinking  ? 
On  what  reflections  did  his  agitation  feed  ?  Perhaps  he 
had  divined  that  I  was  dissimulating  suffering  and  that  the 


l68  THE    INTRUDER. 

sole  cause  which  had  driven  me  to  my  perilous  race  was  the 
spur  of  some  fixed  idea. 

We  followed  the  path,  one  behind  the  other,  step  by 
step.  Then  we  turned  into  a  side-path  that  led  through 
the  bush,  and,  as  it  was  wide  enough,  we  trotted  side  by 
side,  while  our  horses  whinnied,  bringing  their  nostrils 
together  as  if  to  exchange  confidences,  and  mingling  the 
froth  from  their  bridles. 

From  time  to  time  I  glanced  at  Federico,  and,  seeing 
that  he  was  still  pensive,  I  thought :  "  Assuredly,  if  I 
were  to  reveal  the  truth  to  him,  he  would  not  believe  me. 
He  could  not  believe  in  Juliana's  sin,  in  the  sister's  stain. 
Between  his  affection  and  that  of  my  mother  for  Juliana, 
I  really  could  not  decide  whose  is  the  more  profound.  Had 
he  not  always  kept  on  his  table  the  two  portraits  of  Juliana 
and  our  poor  Constance,  united  as  in  a  diptych  for  the  same 
adoration  ?  This  morning  even,  how  gentle  his  voice 
became  in  naming  her  !  "  Suddenly,  by  contrast,  the  infa- 
mous image  reappeared,  more  hideous.  The  bared  chest  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  in  the  dressing-room  of  the  fencing- 
salon  flitted  now  before  my  imagination.  And  on  that 
face  my  hate  worked  just  like  nitric  acid  on  the  engrav- 
er's copper  plate  :  the  bitten  characters  became  sharper  and 
sharper. 

Then,  while  I  still  felt  in  my  blood  the  excitement  pro- 
duced by  the  ride,  by  the  effect  of  that  exuberance  of 
physical  courage,  of  that  instinct  of  hereditary  combative- 
ness  that,  so  often,  surged  up  in  me  at  the  contact  with 
other  men,  I  felt  that  I  would  not  have  the  strength  to 
resist  challenging  Filippo  Arborio.  "  I  will  go  to  Rome, 
I  will  find  out  all  about  him ;  I  will  incense  him,  no  matter 
how;  I  will  force  him  to  fight.  I  will  do  everything  to  kill 
him  or  cripple  him."  I  imagined  the  poltroon  to  myself. 


THE    INTRUDER.  169 

There  recurred  to  my  memory  a  rather  ridiculous  retreat 
which  he  had  not  been  able  to  prevent  at  the  salle  d'armes, 
when  he  received  a  thrust  in  the  breast  from  the  fencing- 
master.  I  also  remembered  his  questioning  me  regard- 
ing my  duel,  that  puerile  curiosity  of  those  who  have  never 
been  on  the  field  of  honor.  I  recalled  that,  during  my 
assault,  he  had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  me  ceaselessly.  The 
consciousness  of  my  superiority,  the  certainty  of  vanquish- 
ing him,  excited  me.  In  my  imagination,  a  thread  of  red 
blood  furrowed  that  pale  and  disgusting  flesh.  And  I  saw 
him  bleeding  and  inert  on  a  mattress,  with  two  doctors 
leaning  over  him. 

How  often  I,  the  ideologist,  the  analyst,  the  sophist  of 
an  epoch  of  decadence,  had  prided  myself  on  being  the 
descendant  of  that  Raymond  Hermil  of  Panedo  who,  at 
the  Goulette,  had  accomplished  prodigies  of  valor  and  of 
ferocity  beneath  the  eyes  of  Charles  the  Fifth  1  The 
excessive  development  of  my  intelligence  and  of  my  many- 
souled  state  had  not  been  able  to  modify  the  depths  of  my 
substance,  in  the  deepest  stratifications  of  which  were  pre- 
served the  imprint  of  every  hereditary  characteristic  of  my 
race.  In  my  brother,  whose  organization  was  well  bal- 
anced, thought  was  always  associated  with  labor;  in  me 
thought  predominated.  I  was,  in  short,  a  violent  and  a 
passionate  person  conscious  of  himself,  in  whom  the  hyper- 
trophy of  certain  cerebral  centres  rendered  impossible  the 
coordination  necessary  to  the  normal  state  of  the  mind.  I 
was  able  to  contemplate  my  actions  with  perfect  clear-sight- 
edness, and  yet  I  had  every  undisciplinable  impulse  of 
primitive  natures.  More  than  once  had  I  been  possessed 
by  sudden  criminal  ideas;  more  than  once  I  had  been  sur- 
prised by  feeling  the  surging  up  of  a  cruel  instinct  within 
me. 


1 70  THE    INTRUDER. 

"There  are  the  charcoal-burners,"  said  my  brother  to 
me,  putting  his  horse  at  a  trot. 

The  blows  of  the  axe  could  be  heard  in  the  forest  and 
the  spirals  of  smoke  could  be  seen  rising  between  the 
trees.  Federico  interrogated  the  workmen  as  to  the  progress 
made  in  their  labor,  gave  them  advice,  while  examin- 
ing their  work  with  an  experienced  eye.  Every  one  of 
them  assumed  a  respectful  attitude,  and  listened  atten- 
tively. Around  about,  the  labor  seemed  to  become  more 
eager,  easier,  lighter,  and  even  the  crackling  of  the  fire 
more  efficacious.  Men  ran  right  and  left,  throwing  earth 
here  and  there  wherever  the  smoke  poured  out  in  too  great 
abundance,  to  stop  up  with  clods  the  holes  caused  by  the 
explosions;  they  ran,  they  shouted.  With  these  rude 
voices  mingled  the  guttural  sounds  of  the  wood-cutters. 
The  surroundings  resounded  with  the  crash  of  some  falling 
tree.  During  the  few  moments  of  our  halt  could  be 
heard  the  whistling  of  blackbirds.  And  the  great,  motion- 
less forest  contemplated  the  wood-cutters,  to  whom  its  life 
served  as  food. 

While  my  brother  proceeded  in  his  examination  of  the 
work,  I  withdrew,  leaving  to  my  horse  the  choice  of  the 
unfamiliar  paths  that  led  into  the  bush.  Behind  me  the 
sounds  decreased,  the  echoes  died  away.  A  heavy  silence 
fell  from  the  tree-tops.  I  thought:  "What  shall  I  do 
to  regain  courage  ?  What  will  my  life  henceforth  be  ? 
Can  I  continue  to  live  in  my  mother's  house  with  my 
secret  ?  Can  I  associate  my  life  with  that  of  Federico  ? 
What  man  in  all  this  world,  what  event  could  ever  resuscitate 
in  my  soul  a  spark  of  faith  ?  "  The  sounds  of  the  workers 
died  away  behind  me ;  the  solitude  became  complete. 
"  To  work,  to  accomplish  good,  to  live  for  others  ! 
Can  I  henceforth  recover  in  these  things  the  true  sense  of 


THE   INTRUDER.  171 

life  ?  And  are  there  really  only  these  things  which,  to 
the  exclusion  of  individual  happiness,  permit  of  finding 
the  true  sense  of  life  ?  The  other  day,  while  my  brother 
was  speaking,  I  believed  I  understood  his  remarks;  I 
believed  that  the  doctrine  of  truth  was  revealed  to  me  by 
his  mouth.  The  doctrine  of  truth,  according  to  my  brother, 
is  not  in  laws,  not  in  precepts,  but  simply  and  solely  in 
the  interpretation  that  man  gives  to  life.  It  seemed  to 
me  I  had  understood  it  fully.  But,  all  at  once,  I  now 
found  myself  fallen  back  among  the  shadows ;  I  had  be- 
come blind  again.  I  no  longer  understood.  What  man 
in  all  the  world,  what  event,  could  console  me  for  all  the 
good  I  had  lost  ?  "  And  the  future  seemed  frightful  and 
hopeless  to  me.  The  undefined  image  of  the  infant  to  be 
born  grew,  enlarged,  like  horrible  and  formless  things  one 
sees  sometimes  in  a  nightmare,  and  ended  by  enveloping 
everything.  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  regret,  of 
remorse,  of  an  indestructible  recollection,  of  no  matter  what 
inner  bitterness;  it  now  concerned  a  living  being.  My 
future  was  fettered  to  a  being  whose  life  was  tenacious  and 
malefic ;  it  was  shackled  to  a  stranger,  to  an  intruder,  to 
an  abominable  creature,  against  whom  not  only  my  mind, 
but  also  my  flesh,  all  my  blood  and  every  fibre,  rose  with  a 
brutal,  ferocious,  implacable  aversion,  until  death,  beyond 
death.  I  thought :  "  Who  could  have  imagined  a  worse  tor- 
ture for  torturing  the  soul  and  the  flesh  at  the  same  time  ?  " 
And  it  was  just  at  the  time  that  the  nausea  set  in  that 
I — who  fed  on  dreams,  who  drank  of  the  ideal — found 
the  ingenuities  of  my  adolescence,  thought  of  nothing  but 
of  gathering  flowers.  Oh  !  those  flowers,  those  heart-break- 
ing flowers  that  I  so  timidly  offered  her.  And,  after  a 
great  intoxication,  half-sentimental,  half-sensual,  I  received 
the  delightful  news,  from  whom  ?  from  my  mother  !  And 


172  THE   INTRUDER. 

after  the  news,  I  experience  a  feeling  of  generous  exalta- 
tion, I  accept  in  good  faith  a  noble  role,  I  sacrifice  myself 
in  silence,  like  one  of  Octave  Feuillet's  heroes  !  What 
heroism  !  The  irony  tortured  my  soul,  bruised  every  fibre. 
.  Then,  for  the  second  time,  I  conceived  the  mad 
idea  of  escaping  from  my  fate. 

I  looked  before  me.  Close  at  hand,  between  the  tree- 
trunks,  unreal  like  the  illusion  of  a  hallucination,  shone 
the  glistening  Assoro.  "  Strange  !  "  I  thought,  with  a 
curious  shudder.  Up  to  this  time  I  had  not  noticed  that 
my  horse,  left  to  himself,  had  entered  a  path  that  led  to 
the  river.  The  Assoro  seemed  to  have  a  fatal  fascination 
for  me. 

I  hesitated  a  moment  between  two  things — to  go  on  as 
far  as  the  cliff,  or  return.  Finally,  I  stopped,  fascinated 
by  the  water  and  the  guilty  thought.  I  made  my  horse 
curvet. 

A  heavy  oppressiveness  succeeded  the  internal  convul- 
sion. It  seemed  to  me  that,  all  at  once,  my  soul  had 
become  a  poor,  faded  thing,  a  bruised,  diminished,  miser- 
able thing.  I  became  softened;  I  felt  pity  for  myself,  I 
felt  pity  for  Juliana,  I  felt  pity  for  every  creature  upon 
whom  suffering  had  set  its  seal,  that  trembled  under  the 
embrace  of  life  as  some  vanquished  enemy  in  the  power  of 
some  pitiless  conqueror.  "  What  are  we  ?  What  do  'we 
know  ?  What  do  we  wish  for  ?  No  one  has  ever  obtained 
what  he  would  like  ;  no  one  will  ever  obtain  what  he  would 
like.  We  seek  goodness,  virtue,  enthusiasm,  the  passion  that 
will  fill  our  soul,  the  faith  that  will  calm  our  inquietudes, 
the  inspiration  that  will  give  us  courage,  the  work  to 
which  we  consecrate  ourselves,  the  cause  for  which  we  will 
joyfully  die.  And  the  result  of  so  many  efforts  is  an  empty 
lassitude,  the  sensation  of  strength  spent  in  pure  loss,  and 


THE    INTRUDER.  173 

of  the  flight  of  time."  At  that  moment,  life  appeared  to  me 
like  a  distant  vision,  confused,  strange,  monstrous.  Mad- 
ness, imbecillity,  poverty,  blindness,  every  malady,  every 
misfortune,  the  obscure  and  continuous  agitation  of  un- 
conscious atavic,  bestial  powers  in  the  depths  of  our  sub- 
stance, the  highest  manifestations  of  the  ever-unstable, 
fugitive  mind  necessarily  subordinated  to  a  physical  condi- 
tion, connected  with  the  functions  of  an  organ,  instan- 
taneous metamorphoses  produced  by  an  imperceptible  cause, 
by  a  mere  nothing,  the  infallible  amount  of  egotism  in  the 
noblest  actions,  the  inutility  of  so  much  moral  energy 
directed  toward  an  uncertain  object,  the  futility  of  amours 
that  we  believe  to  be  eternal,  the  frailty  of  virtue  that 
we  believe  unshakable,  the  feebleness  of  the  most  robust 
wills,  every  shame,  every  misery,  appeared  before  me  in  that 
instant.  "  How  is  it  possible  to  live  ?  How  is  it  pos- 
sible to  love  ?" 

The  axes  resounded  in  the  forest ;  a  short  and  savage  cry 
accompanied  every  blow.  Here  and  there,  in  the  clearings, 
great  piles  of  wood,  in  the  form  of  truncated  cones  or  of 
quadrangular  pyramids,  were  smoking.  Columns  of  smoke, 
thick  and  straight  as  the  trunks  of  trees,  arose  in  the  quiet 
air.  To  me,  everything  was  symbolical  at  that  moment. 

I  turned  my  horse  toward  the  neighboring  charcoal- 
burner,  where  I  had  recognized  Federico. 

He  had  descended  from  his  horse  and  was  speaking  to  a 
tall  old  man  with  shaven  chin. 

"Ah!  At  last!"  he  cried,  on  seeing  me.  "I  was 
afraid  that  you  were  lost." 

"  No,  I  was  not  far  off." 

"  Let  me  introduce  to  you  Giovanni  di  Scordio — a  Man," 
he  said,  placing  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

I  looked  at  the  being  whom  he  so  designated.     A  singu- 


174  THE    INTRUDER. 

larly  sweet  smile  gathered  around  his  withered  mouth.  I 
had  never  seen  such  sad  eyes  before  under  a  human  brow. 

"  Adieu,  Giovanni,  and  keep  up  your  courage  !  "  added 
my  brother  in  that  voice  which  seemed,  at  certain  moments, 
like  certain  liquors,  to  have  the  power  of  stimulating  the 
vital  tone.  "  As  for  us,  Tullio,  let  us  return  to  the  Badiola. 
It  is  getting  late.  They  will  be  waiting  for  us." 

He  remounted  his  horse.  He  again  saluted  the  old  man. 
On  passing  by  the  furnaces,  he  once  more  instructed  the 
workmen  concerning  the  operations  of  the  coming  night, 
on  which  the  great  fire  was  to  take  place.  We  then  trotted 
off,  side  by  side. 

The  blue  sky  slowly  appeared  over  our  heads.  The  veils 
of  vapor  floated  away,  dispersed,  reformed,  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  the  azure  seemed  to  pale  progressively,  as  if 
through  its  limpidity  a  continuous  milky  wave  was  spread 
and  extended.  We  were  nearing  the  hour  when,  the 
evening  before,  at  the  Lilacs,  I  had  contemplated  with 
Juliana  the  undulating  garden  in  its  ideal  light.  Around 
us  the  brushwood  began  to  be  gilded.  The  invisible  birds 
were  warbling. 

"  Did  you  take  good  notice  of  that  old  man,  Giovanni 
di  Scordio  ?"  asked  Federico. 

11  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  forget 
his  smile  or  his  eyes." 

"  That  old  man  is  a  saint,"  pursued  Federico.  "  No 
man  has  worked  or  suffered  so  much  as  he  has.  He 
had  fourteen  sons,  and  all,  one  after  the  other,  have  left 
him,  just  as  ripe  fruit  leaves  the  tree.  His  wife,  a  virago, 
is  dead.  He  is  left  alone.  His  sons  have  despoiled 
and  disowned  him.  He  has  experienced  every  human 
ingratitude.  He  has  experienced  the  perversity,  not  of 
strangers,  but  of  his  own  creations.  Do  you  understand  ? 


THE    INTRUDER.  175 

His  own  blood  has  turned  to  venom  in  the  beings  for  whom 
he  had  only  love  and  affection,  in  the  beings  whom  he  has 
not  ceased  to  love,  whom  he  cannot  curse,  whom  he  will 
certainly  bless  at  the  hour  of  his  death,  even  if  they  per- 
mit him  to  die  in  solitude.  Is  not  such  obstinacy  of  man 
in  his  goodness  an  extraordinary,  an  almost  unbelievable 
thing  ?  After  so  much  suffering,  his  face  still  has  the 
smile  that  you  saw.  You  will  do  well,  Tullio,  not  to  forget 
that  smile." 


XV. 


THE  hour  of  trial  was  drawing  near,  the  hour  dreaded  yet 
desired  at  the  same  time. 

Juliana  was  ready.  She  had  firmly  opposed  Maria's 
caprice ;  she  wished  to  be  alone  in  her  room  to  await  me. 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  her  ?  What  will  she  say  to  me  ? 
What  will  be  my  attitude  towards  her  ?  "  All  my  preju- 
dices, all  my  plans,  were  scattered.  There  remained  to  me 
only  an  intolerable  anguish.  Who  could  foresee  the  result 
of  the  meeting  ?  I  neither  felt  master  of  myself,  nor  of 
my  words,  nor  of  my  acts.  I  only  felt  within  me  a  fermen- 
tation of  obscure  thoughts  that,  at  the  slightest  shock, 
would  surge  up.  Never,  as  at  that  moment,  had  I  had 
the  clear  and  hopeless  consciousness  of  the  intestine  dis- 
cords that  rent  me,  the  perceptions  of  the  irreconcilable 
elements  that  warred  at  the  depths  of  my  being,  that  over- 
threw one  another,  that  destroyed  each  other  by  turns  in 
a  perpetual  conflict,  rebellious  to  all  restraint.  To  the 
dejection  of  my  mind  was  added  a  particular  agitation  of 
my  feelings  produced  by  the  images  which,  on  that  day, 
had  ceaselessly  tortured  me.  I  knew  that  agitation  well,  I 
knew  it  but  too  well ;  I  knew  it  was  more  certain  than  any 
other  thing  to  stir  up  the  muddy  depths  in  man.  I  knew 
but  too  well  that  base  concupiscence  from  which  nothing 
can  save  us — that  dreadful  sexual  fever  which,  for  months, 
had  held  me  chained  to  a  despised  and  odious  woman, 
Teresa  Raffo.  And  now,  the  sensations  of  goodness,  of 


THE    INTRUDER.  177 

pity,  and  of  strength,  that  were  necessary  to  me  to  enable 
me  to  support  a  meeting  with  Juliana  and  to  persist  in  my 
original  project,  died  away  in  me  like  moving  mists  over  a 
swamp  of  mire. 

It  lacked  but  little  of  midnight  when  I  left  my  room  to 
go  to  Juliana's.  Every  sound  had  ceased.  The  Badiola 
reposed  in  profound  silence.  I  listened  intently,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  I  heard  the  calm  respiration  of  my  mother, 
of  my  brother,  of  my  daughters,  those  innocent  and  spotless 
beings.  I  thought  I  saw  the  face  of  Maria  again  sleeping, 
as  I  had  seen  it  the  night  before;  I  imagined  I  saw  the 
other  faces,  with  an  expression  of  repose,  of  peace,  of  good- 
ness on  each.  A  sudden  tenderness  seized  me.  The  feel- 
ing of  happiness,  experienced  but  for  a  moment  the  evening 
before,  and  then  eclipsed,  threw  a  great  light  over  my  mind. 
If  nothing  had  happened,  if  I  had  remained  under  the 
illusion,  what  a  night  that  would  have  been  !  I  would  have 
gone  to  Juliana  as  to  a  divine  being.  And  what  could  I 
have  wished  sweeter  than  that  silence  to  envelop  the  in- 
quietude of  my  love  ?  I  traversed  the  room  in  which,  the 
evening  before,  I  had  received  from  my  mother's  mouth  the 
unexpected  revelation.  Again  I  heard  the  ticking  of  the 
clock  that  had  marked  the  hour,  and,  I  do  not  know  why, 
that  tick,  tack,  so  invariably  equal,  increased  my  anguish. 
I  do  not  know  why,  but  I  imagined  I  felt  Juliana's  anguish 
respond  to  mine  through  the  space  that  still  separated  us, 
and  that  the  palpitations  of  our  hearts  were  accelerated  in 
unison.  I  walked  straight  before  me,  without  further 
stopping,  without  seeking  to  muffle  the  sound  of  my  foot- 
falls. I  did  not  knock  at  the  door;  I  opened  it  and 
entered.  Juliana  was  standing,  supporting  herself  with  one 
hand  on  the  corner  of  a  table,  motionless,  more  rigid  than 
a  Hermes. 
12 


178  THE    INTRUDER. 

I  can  still  see  everything.     Nothing  at  that  hour  escaped 
me  ;  nothing  eluded  my  attention.     The  actual  world  had 
vanished.      There  subsisted  but  a  fictitious  world  in  the 
midst  of  which  I  panted  with  anguish,  with  oppressed  heart, 
incapable  of    articulating    a  syllable,   and   yet    singularly 
lucid,  as  if  I  had  been  a  spectator  at  a  theatre.     On  the 
table  burned  a  candle,  which  lent  a  sort  of  visible  reality  to 
this  semblance  of  scenic  fiction,  because  the  little,  flicker- 
ing flame  seemed  to  shed  about  it  that  vague  horror  which  the 
actors  in  a  drama  diffuse  in  the  ambient  air  with  their  great 
gestures  of  despair  or  menace. 

The  strange  sensation  disappeared  when,  finally,  power- 
less to  longer  support  that  silence  and  Juliana's  marble- 
like  immobility,  I  spoke  the  first  words.  There  was  nothing 
in  my  voice  of  the  sound  that  I  believed  it  would  have 
when  I  would  open  my  lips.  Without  wishing  it,  I  spoke 
in  a  gentle,  trembling,  almost  timid  voice. 

II  Were  you  waiting  for  me  ?  " 

She  kept  her  eyes  cast  down.  Without  raising  them  she 
answered : 

"Yes." 

I  looked  at  her  arm,  as  motionless  as  marble,  which 
seemed  to  become  more  and  more  rigid  upon  the  hand 
placed  on  the  corner  of  the  table.  I  feared  that  that 
fragile  support,  on  which  she  leaned  her  entire  weight, 
would  yield  from  one  moment  to  another,  and  that  she  would 
fall. 

"You  know  why  I  came  ?"  I  continued,  with  extreme 
slowness,  plucking  the  words  from  my  heart,  one  by  one. 

She  remained  silent. 

"  Is  it  true  ?"  I  went  on.  "  Is  it  true — what  I  have 
learned  from  my  mother  ?  ' ' 

She  still  remained  silent.     She  seemed  to  be  gathering 


THE   INTRUDER.  179 

all  her  strength.  Strange  !  During  that  interval  it  did 
not  seem  absolutely  impossible  that  she  would  answer : 
"No.'' 

She  answered,  and  I  heard  less  the  sound  of  her  words 
than  I  saw  them  outlined  by  her  bloodless  lips  : 

"  It  is  true." 

It  was  a  ruder  shock  perhaps  than  that  given  me  by  my 
mother's  words.  Of  course,  I  knew  all,  I  had  already 
lived  twenty-four  hours  with  my  certitude;  and  yet  this 
confirmation,  so  clear,  so  precise,  crushed  me  to  earth,  as 
if  it  were  the  first  time  I  had  heard  the  revelation  of  the 
irreparable  truth. 

"  It  is  true  !  "  I  repeated  instinctively,  speaking  to  my- 
self, with  a  sensation  analogous  to  that  which  I  would  have 
had,  had  I  found  myself  living  and  conscious  at  the  bottom 
of  an  abyss. 

Then  Juliana  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  on  mine 
with  a  sort  of  spasmodic  violence. 

"Tullio,"  she  said,  "listen." 

A  choking  stopped  the  voice  in  her  throat. 

"  Listen.  I  know  what  I  must  do.  I  was  prepared  for  any- 
thing to  spare  you  this ;  but  destiny  willed  that  I  live  until 
now  to  suffer  that  most  horrible  thing,  the  thing  of  which  I 
had  a  mad  terror — ah  !  you  understand  me — a  thousand  times 
more  than  of  death.  Tullio,  Tullio,  your  look " 

Another  suffocation  choked  her  at  a  moment  when  her 
voice  had  become  so  distressed  in  tone  that  it  gave  me  the 
physical  impression  of  the  tearing  out  of  the  most  hidden 
fibres.  I  dropped  into  a  seat,  covered  my  face  with  my 
hands,  and  waited  for  her  to  continue. 

"  I  should  have  died  before  now,  I  should  have  died 
long  ago  !  Without  doubt  it  would  have  been  better  if  I 
had  not  come  to  the  Badiola ;  it  would  have  been  better 


l8o  THE    INTRUDER. 

if  at  your  return  from  Venice  you  had  not  come  to  me 
again.  I  would  have  been  dead,  and  you  would  not  have 
known  this  shame ;  you  would  have  regretted  me,  perhaps 
you  would  always  have  cherished  my  memory.  Perhaps  I 
should  always  have  remained  your  great  love,  your  unique 
love,  as  you  said  yesterday.  ...  I  did  not  fear  death, 
you  know;  I  do  not  fear  it.  It  is  the  thought  of  our  two 
little  daughters  and  of  our  mother  that  has  made  me  post- 
pone the  execution  from  day  to  day.  And  that  has  been 
an  agony,  Tullio,  a  cruel  agony,  in  which  I  have  consumed, 
not  one,  but  a  thousand  lives.  And  I  am  still  alive  !  " 

After  a  pause,  she  added  : 

11  How  is  it  possible  that  with  such  poor  health  I  have  so 
much  resistance  to  pain  ?  That  also  is  a  misfortune  for  me. 
Think  of  it !  In  consenting  to  accompany  you  here,  I 
thought :  '  It  is  certain  that  I  shall  become  ill ;  directly  I 
arrive  I  shall  have  to  go  to  my  bed,  and  I  shall  rise  from  it 
no  more.  They  will  think  I  died  a  natural  death.  Tullio 
will  never  know  anything,  will  never  suspect  anything. 
Everything  will  be  ended.'  On  the  contrary,  I  am  still 
alive,  and  you  know  all,  and  all  is  lost,  without  hope." 

She  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  very  feebly,  and  yet  in  as  heart- 
breaking a  tone  as  if  it  were  a  sharp  and  reiterated  cry.  I 
pressed  my  temples  and  felt  them  throbbing  so  violently 
that  I  was  almost  afraid,  as  if  the  arteries  would  burst  the 
skin  and  their  soft  and  warm  membrane  adhere,  naked,  to 
the  cranial  wall. 

"  My  only  preoccupation  was  to  hide  the  truth  from  you, 
not  for  myself,  but  for  you,  for  your  good.  You  will  never 
know  what  terrors  have  frozen  me,  what  anguish  has 
choked  my  throat.  Since  the  day  we  arrived  here,  up  to 
yesterday,  you  have  hoped,  you  have  dreamed,  you  have 
been  almost  happy.  But  my  life,  to  me,  in  this  blessed 


THE    INTRUDER.  l8l 

house,  in  contact  with  your  mother,  with  my  secret,  can  you 
imagine  it  ?  Yesterday,  at  the  Lilacs,  while  we  were  at 
table,  during  that  sweet  chat  which  tortured  me,  you  said  to 
me:  'You  knew  nothing,  you  perceived  nothing.'  Oh! 
no,  that  is  false ;  I  knew  all,  I  divined  all  ;  and,  when  I 
detected  the  affectionate  look  in  your  eyes,  I  felt  my  soul 
grow  faint.  Listen,  Tullio.  What  I  am  going  to  say  is 
the  truth,  the  real  truth.  I  am  before  you  here  as  on  my 
death-bed.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  lie.  Believe 
what  I  tell  you.  I  do  not  care  to  exculpate  myself,  I  do 
not  dream  of  defending  myself.  Henceforth  all  is  at  an 
end.  But  I  wish  to  tell  you  one  thing,  because  it  is  true. 
You  know  what  love  I  have  had  for  you,  since  the  day  we 
first  met.  For  years,  for  years,  I  was  blindly  devoted,  and 
not  only  during  the  years  of  happiness,  but  also  during  the 
years  of  misery,  when  your  love  grew  weary.  You  know  it, 
Tullio.  You  could  always  do  with  me  as  you  wished.  You 
have  always  found  in  me  the  friend,  the  sister,  the  wife,  the 
mistress,  ready  to  make  no  matter  what  sacrifice  to  please 
you.  Do  not  believe,  Tullio,  do  not  believe  that  I  recall 
my  long  devotion  in  order  to  accuse  you.  No,  no.  There 
is  not  in  my  soul  a  single  drop  of  bitterness  against  you,  do 
you  hear  ?  Not  a  single  drop  !  But  let  me  now  remind  you 
of  a  devotion  and  a  tenderness  that  have  lasted  for  so  many 
years,  let  me  speak  to  you  of  love,  of  the  uninterruptedness 
of  my  love,  without  any  intermission,  do  you  understand  me  ? 
— without  one  intermission.  I  believe  that  my  passion  for 
you  has  never  been  as  ardent  as  during  the  last  few  weeks. 
Yesterday  you  told  me  many  things.  Ah  !  what  could  not  I, 
too,  tell  of  my  life  during  these  last  few  days  !  I  knew  all,  I 
divined  all ;  and  I  was  compelled  to  avoid  you.  How  many 
times  have  I  been  on  the  point  of  falling  in  your  arms,  of 
closing  my  eyes,  and  yielding  myself  entirely  to  you,  in 


1 82  THE    INTRUDER. 

my  moments  of  feebleness  and  extreme  lassitude  !  The 
other  morning,  Saturday  morning,  when  you  came  in  with 
the  flowers,  it  seemed  to  me  as  I  looked  at  you  that  I  saw 
the  lover  of  the  old  days,  because  of  the  ardor  that  ani- 
mated you,  and  your  smile,  and  your  amiability,  and  the 
light  that  shone  in  your  eyes.  And  you  showed  me  the 
scratches  on  your  hands  !  Then  I  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to 
take  those  hands,  to  kiss  them.  Where  did  I  get  the 
strength  to  restrain  myself  ?  I  did  not  feel  myself  worthy. 
And  I  saw  in  a  flash  all  the  happiness  that  you  offered  me 
with  the  flowering  thorns,  all  the  happiness  that  I  must 
renounce  forever.  Ah  !  Tullio,  my  heart  is  proof  against 
all  trials,  since  it  can  be  so  crushed  without  breaking.  I 
die  hard." 

She  pronounced  this  last  phrase  in  a  deeper  tone,  with 
an  indefinable  accent  of  irony  mingled  with  anger.  I 
dared  not  raise  my  face  to  look  at  her.  Her  words  caused 
me  atrocious  suffering,  and  yet  I  trembled  every  time  she 
stopped.  I  feared  that  her  strength  would  suddenly  aban- 
don her,  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  continue. 
And  I  awaited  from  her  mouth  other  confessions,  other 
fragments  of  soul. 

"  It  was  a  great,  great  mistake,"  she  continued,  "  not  to 
have  died  before  you  returned  from  Venice.  But  poor 
Maria,  poor  Natalia,  could  I  abandon  them  ?" 

She  hesitated  an  instant : 

"  Nor  you  either ;  I  could  not  leave  you  in  such  a  manner. 
I  might  have  caused  you  remorse.  You  would  have  been 
the  object  of  everybody's  accusations.  We  could  not  have 
dissimulated  with  our  mother.  She  would  have  asked  you  : 
'  Why  should  Juliana  have  wished  to  die  ? '  She  would 
have  come  to  know  the  truth,  which  we  have  kept  from  her 
till  now — poor  saintly  woman." 


THE    INTRUDER.  183 

Emotion  choked  her  utterance,  her  voice  became  hoarse, 
began  to  tremble,  tearfully.  I  felt  a  lump  rise  in  my 
throat,  too. 

"  I  thought  of  all  that;  and,  when  you  wished  to  bring 
me  here,  I  thought,  too,  that  I  was  no  longer  worthy  of 
her,  that  I  was  no  longer  worthy  to  receive  her  kisses  on  my 
forehead  and  be  called  her  daughter.  But  you  know  how 
weak  we  are,  how  easily  we  give  way  to  the  force  of  circum- 
stances. I  had  no  more  hope ;  I  knew  that,  outside  of 
death,  there  remained  no  other  refuge  for  me  ;  I  knew  that, 
every  day,  the  circle  was  closing  in  more.  And  yet  I  per- 
mitted the  days  to  pass,  one  by  one,  without  taking  any 
resolution.  Yet  I  had  a  sure  means  of  death." 

She  stopped.  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  I  raised  my 
eyes,  and  looked  at  her  fixedly.  She  shuddered  violently; 
and  the  pain  which  my  look  caused  her  was  so  apparent  that 
I  lowered  my  forehead,  and  resumed  my  first  attitude. 

Up  to  now  she  had  been  standing.  She  sat  down.  An 
interval  of  silence  followed. 

"  Do  you  believe,"  she  asked  me,  with  a  timid  and 
unhappy  air,  "  do  you  believe  that  the  sin  is  great  when  the 
soul  did  not  consent  ?  " 

That  allusion  to  the  sin  sufficed  to  stir  up  in  me  instantly 
the  dregs  that  had  settled,  and  a  sort  of  bitter  acridity  rose 
to  my  mouth.  An  involuntary  sarcasm  left  my  lips.  I 
said,  affecting  a  smile  : 

"  Poor  soul ! " 

That  expression  caused  a  look  of  such  intense  pain  to 
appear  on  Juliana's  face  that  I  felt  immediately  the  acute 
sting  of  repentance.  I  understood  that  it  were  impossible 
for  me  to  have  inflicted  a  more  cruel  blow,  and  that,  at  that 
moment,  and  against  such  a  poor,  submissive  creature,  irony 
was  the  worst  of  cowardices. 


184  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said. 

She  had  the  appearance  of  a  woman  smitten  by  death. 
And  it  seemed  to  me  that  her  look  had  precisely  the  sad 
gentleness,  almost  infantile,  that  I  had  already  seen  on  the 
wounded  when  they  are  placed  on  their  biers. 

"  Forgive  me.  Yesterday,  you,  too,  spoke  of  the  soul. 
You  think  now :  '  Women  say  those  things  to  obtain  forgive- 
ness.'' But  I  do  not  seek  to  exculpate  myself.  I  know 
that  pardon  is  impossible,  and  that  it  is  impossible  to 
forget.  I  know  there  is  no  hope.  You  understand  me  ? 
I  only  seek  to  excuse  myself  for  having  received  your 
mother's  kisses." 

She  still  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  very  weak  and  yet  heart- 
breaking, like  a  sharp  and  reiterated  cry. 

"  I  felt  on  my  brow  so  heavy  a  weight  of  sorrows  that, 
not  for  myself,  Tullio,  but  for  my  pain,  only  for  my  pain, 
I  let  your  mother  kiss  me  then.  I  was  unworthy  of  them ; 
but  my  pain  deserved  them.  You  can  forgive  me." 

I  felt  an  impulse  of  kindness,  of  pity;  but  I  did  not 
yield  to  it.  My  eyes  avoided  hers,  and  I  made  enormous 
efforts  not  to  writhe  in  convulsive  spasms,  not  to  yield 
to  extravagant  actions. 

"  Certain  days,  I  deferred  from  hour  to  hour  the  execu- 
tion of  my  project;  the  thought  of  this  house,  of  what 
would  afterwards  happen  in  this  house,  took  away  my  cour- 
age. See  how  I  have  ended  by  losing  even  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  hide  the  truth  from  you,  of  being  able  to 
spare  you ;  for,  from  the  first  days,  your  mother  guessed  my 
condition.  Do  you  remember  the  day  when  I  was  at  the 
window  and  when  the  odor  of  the  violets  nauseated  me  ?  It 
was  then  that  your  mother  noticed  it.  Imagine  my  terror  ! 
I  thought :  If  I  kill  myself,  he  will  learn  the  secret  from 
his  mother.  And  who  knows  how  far  the  consequences  of 


THE    INTRUDER.  185 

the  sin  I  have  committed  will  reach  ?  Night  and  day  I 
racked  my  soul  to  find  a  means  of  sparing  you.  On  Sun- 
day, when  you  asked  me  :  '  Shall  we  go  to  the  Lilacs  on 
Tuesday  ? '  I  consented  without  reflecting,  I  abandoned 
myself  to  destiny,  I  trusted  to  chance.  I  was  certain  that 
that  day  would  be  my  last,  and  this  certitude  exalted  me, 
inspired  me  with  a  sort  of  dementia.  But,  Tullio,  remem- 
ber your  words  of  yesterday,  and  tell  me  if,  now,  you  appre- 
ciate my  martyrdom.  Do  you  appreciate  it  ?  " 

She  bent  toward  me  as  if  to  project  her  painful  question 
into  my  soul,  and  she  entwined  her  fingers  convulsively. 

"  You  had  never  spoken  to  me  like  that  before,  you  had 
never  spoken  in  such  a  voice.  When,  on  the  bench,  you 
asked  me  :  '  //  is  too  late,  perhaps  ?  '  I  looked  at  you,  and 
your  face  frightened  me.  Could  I  reply :  '  Yes,  it  is  too 
late  ? '  Could  I  have  broken  your  heart  at  one  blow  ? 
What  would  have  become  of  us  ?  Then  I  determined  to 
yield  to  one  last  intoxication,  and  I  saw  nothing  more  but 
my  death  and  my  passion." 

Her  voice  had  become  strangely  hoarse.  I  looked  at  her, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  no  longer  recognized  her,  so 
transfigured  was  she.  A  convulsion  contracted  every  line 
of  her  face ;  her  lower  lip  trembled  violently ;  her  eyes 
burned  with  febrile  ardor. 

"  Do  you  blame  me  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  hoarse,  distressed 
tone.  "  Do  you  despise  me  for  what  I  did  yesterday  ?  " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  she  shook  off  her  weakness  with  a  resolute  gesture. 
Her  voice  became  stronger. 

"  Destiny  has  willed  that  I  should  live  until  now.  Des- 
tiny has  willed  that  you  should  learn  the  truth  from  your 
mother.  From  your  mother  !  Yesterday  evening,  when 
you  came  into  this  room,  you  knew  all  and  you  said  nothing, 


l86  THE    INTRUDER. 

and,  before  your  mother,  you  kissed  the  cheek  I  offered 
you.  Before  I  die,  permit  me  to  kiss  your  hands.  It  is  the 
only  favor  I  implore  of  you.  Now,  I  await  your  com- 
mands. I  am  ready  for  anything.  Speak." 

I  said : 

"  It  is  necessary  that  you  should  live." 

"  Impossible,  Tullio,"  she  cried.  "  Impossible  !  Have 
you  thought  of  what  will  happen  if  I  live  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  it.  It  is  necessary  that  you  should 
live." 

"  What  horror !" 

And  she  started  violently — an  instinctive  gesture  of 
fright. 

"Listen,  Tullio.  Henceforth  you  know  everything; 
henceforth  suicide  can  no  longer  serve  me  to  hide  my 
shame  from  you,  nor  keep  me  from  appearing  before  you. 
You  know  all,  and  here  we  are  together,  and  we  can  still 
look  at  one  another,  we  can  still  speak  to  one  another ! 
The  question  is  an  entirely  different  one.  I  no  longer  seek 
to  elude  your  vigilance  in  order  to  kill  myself.  On  the 
contrary,  I  wish  you  to  help  me  in  disappearing  in  the  most 
natural  way  possible;  without  awakening  any  suspicion 
around  us.  I  have  two  poisons — morphine  and  corrosive 
sublimate.  But  perhaps  poisons  are  useless;  it  is  difficult 
to  conceal  poisoning.  And  it  is  necessary  that  my  death 
should  seem  to  be  involuntary,  caused  by  accident,  by  a 
mishap.  You  understand  ?  It  is  the  only  way  out  of  it. 
The  secret  will  remain  between  us  two." 

She  began  to  speak  rapidly,  firmly  and  deliberately,  as  if 
she  argued  in  order  to  persuade  me  to  consent  to  some  desir- 
able compact  and  not  to  a  compact  of  complicity  in  the 
execution  of  an  extravagant  project.  I  let  her  go  on.  A  sort 
of  singular  fascination  rooted  me  to  the  spot — constrained 


THE    INTRUDER.  187 

me  to  look  at  and  listen  to  the  fragile  and  pale  creature, 
possessed  by  such  impetuous  waves  of  moral  energy. 

"  Listen,  Tullio.  I  have  an  idea.  Federico  told  me  of 
your  insane  ride,  of  the  danger  that  you  incurred  on  the  bank 
of  the  Assoro.  He  told  me  everything.  I  thought,  trem- 
bling: 'Who  knows  what  mental  torture  made  him  incur 
such  peril  ? '  Then,  as  I  thought  of  it,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  understood.  It  was  like  a  prophetic  revelation. 
My  soul  seemed  to  see  a  vision  of  all  the  pain  that  awaited 
you,  pain  against  which  nothing  could  guard  you,  pain 
that  would  grow  day  by  day,  inconsolable,  intolerable.  Ah  ! 
Tullio,  it  is  certain  that  you  have  already  felt  this  pain, 
and  that  you  also  foresee  your  powerlessness  to  bear  it. 
There  is  but  one  means  of  salvation  for  you,  for  me,  for  our 
souls,  for  our  love.  Yes,  let  me  say  it — our  love ;  let  me 
still  believe  in  your  words  of  yesterday;  let  me  repeat  that 
I  love  you  now  as  I  have  never  loved  you  before.  And  it 
is  precisely  for  that,  precisely  because  we  love  each  other, 
that  I  must  disappear  from  the  world,  that  you  must  no 
longer  see  me." 

An  extraordinary  moral  elevation  heightened  her  voice 
and  entire  person.  A  great  thrill  passed  through  me ;  a 
fugitive  illusion  seized  upon  my  mind.  For  a  moment,  I 
really  believed  that  my  love  and  that  of  this  woman  were 
on  an  equal  plane,  of  the  same  ideal,  measureless  height, 
freed  from  human  misery,  freed  from  all  sin,  irreproachable. 
I  felt,  for  several  moments,  the  same  sensation  that  I 
had  felt  at  the  beginning,  when  the  actual  world  had 
seemed  to  me  to  have  completely  vanished.  Then,  as 
always,  the  inevitable  phenomena  occurred:  this  state  of 
consciousness  ceased  to  be  mine,  it  became  objective, 
became  a  stranger  to  me. 

"Listen,"   she  went  on,   lowering  her  voice,  as  if  she 


l88  THE   INTRUDER. 

feared  to  be  overheard.  "  I  have  told  Federico  that  I  have 
a  great  desire  to  revisit  the  woods,  the  charcoal-burners, 
the  entire  country.  To-morrow  morning,  Federico  will 
not  have  the  leisure  to  accompany  us  because  he  must  return 
to  Casal  Caldore.  We  two  will  go,  alone.  Federico  has 
told  me  that  I  can  ride  Favilla.  When  we  are  on  the  cliff 
— I  will  do  what  you  did  this  morning.  An  accident  will 
happen.  Federico  told  me  it  is  impossible  to  be  rescued 
from  the  Assoro.  Will  you  ?  " 

Although  her  speech  was  connected,  she  seemed  a  prey  to 
a  kind  of  delirium.  An  unaccustomed  flush  tinged  her 
cheeks ;  her  eyes  had  an  extraordinary  lustre. 

The  vision  of  the  sinister  river  flashed  rapidly  through 
my  mind. 

She  repeated,  bending  toward  me : 

"Will  you?" 

I  arose,  and  took  her  hands.  I  wished  to  calm  her  fever. 
Immense  pity  oppressed  me.  My  voice  was  gentle,  grew 
kind,  trembled  with  affectionate  emotion. 

"  Poor  Juliana  !  Do  not  torment  yourself  thus.  You 
are  suffering  too  much ;  your  grief  has  deprived  you  of  your 
reason,  poor  soul.  You  must  be  brave;  you  must  not 
think  of  the  things  you  have  just  said.  Think  of  Maria, 
of  Natalia.  As  for  me,  I  have  accepted  the  punishment.  It 
is  a  punishment  that  I  have  well  deserved  for  all  the  wrongs 
that  I  have  done  you.  I  accept  it;  I  will  bear  it.  But 
you  must  live.  Promise  me,  Juliana,  in  the  name  of  Maria, 
in  the  name  of  Natalia,  in  the  name  of  the  tenderness  that 
you  bear  for  my  mother,  in  the  name  of  all  that  I  told  you 
at  the  Lilacs,  promise  me  that  you  will  in  no  way  seek  to 
kill  yourself." 

She  kept  her  head  down.  Then,  all  at  once,  freeing  her 
hands,  she  seized  mine,  and  began  to  kiss  them  furiously; 


THE    INTRUDER.  189 

and  I  felt  on  my  skin  the  warmth  of  her  mouth,  the 
warmth  of  her  tears.  And,  as  I  attempted  to  disengage 
myself,  she  fell  from  her  seat  on  her  knees,  without  freeing 
my  hands,  sobbing,  showing  me  an  agonized  face  over  which 
the  tears  rolled  in  streams,  in  which  the  contraction  of  the 
mouth  revealed  the  inexpressible  spasm  that  convulsed  her 
entire  being. 

And  I,  incapable  of  raising  her,  incapable  of  uttering  a 
v/ord,  suffocated  by  a  cruel  attack  of  anguish,  overcome  by 
the  violence  of  the  spasm  that  contracted  that  poor,  pallid 
mouth,  forgetful  of  all  rancor,  of  every  pride,  without  any 
other  sensation  than  that  of  the  blind  terror  of  life,  with- 
out seeing  in  myself  and  in  this  crushed  woman  anything 
else  than  human  suffering,  the  eternal  human  suffering,  the 
disaster  of  inevitable  infractions,  the  weight  of  brute  flesh, 
the  horror  of  pitiless  fatalities  that  attach  themselves  to 
the  very  roots  of  our  being  and  the  infinite  physical  sorrow 
of  our  love,  I  fell  also  on  my  knees  before  her,  by  an 
instinctive  desire  to  prostrate  myself,  to  take  the  same 
humble  attitude  as  this  creature  who  suffered  and  who  made 
me  suffer.  And  I  burst  into  sobs ;  and,  once  more,  after 
so  long  a  time,  our  tears  mingled,  burning  tears,  alas  !  but 
powerless  to  change  our  destiny. 


XVI. 

WHO  will  ever  be  able  to  describe  in  words  the  sensa- 
tion of  stupor  and  of  desolate  aridity  which,  in  man,  suc- 
ceeds tears  uselessly  shed,  paroxysms  of  useless  hopeless- 
ness ?  Tears  are  a  temporary  phenomenon;  each  crisis 
ends  in  calm,  every  attack  is  brief ;  and,  afterwards,  man 
finds  himself  exhausted,  his  heart  arid,  more  than  ever  con- 
vinced of  his  own  impotence,  corporeally  stupid  and  sad, 
with  the  impassable  reality  before  him. 

I  was  the  first  to  cease  weeping ;  I  was  the  first  to  open 
my  eyes  to  the  light ;  I  was  the  first  to  notice  my  posture 
and  Juliana's,  and  of  the  surrounding  objects.  We  were 
still  on  our  knees,  one  facing  the  other,  on  the  carpet.  A 
few  sobs  still  shook  her.  The  candle  was  burning  on  the 
table,  and  every  now  and  then  its  tiny  flame  flickered  and 
bent  as  if  under  the  breath  of  a  breeze.  In  the  silence  my 
ear  perceived  the  slight  sound  of  a  watch  which  was  some- 
where in  the  room.  Life  rolled  on ;  time  passed.  My  soul 
was  empty  and  solitary. 

After  the  violence  of  the  emotion  had  subsided,  after 
the  intoxication  of  the  pain  had  become  dissipated,  our 
attitudes  signified  nothing  any  more,  had  no  longer  a  raison 
d* etre.  I  must  rise,  raise  up  Juliana,  say  something,  defi- 
nitely close  this  scene ;  but  I  felt  for  all  this  a  strange 
repugnance.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  become  incapable 
of  the  slightest  physical  or  moral  effort.  I  was  vexed  at 
being  there,  at  having  to  submit  to  these  necessities,  at 


THE    INTRUDER.  IQI 

meeting  with  these  difficulties,  at  not  having  the  strength  to 
leave  my  position.  And  a  sort  of  deep  rancor  against 
Juliana  began  to  stir  confusedly  in  the  depths  of  my  being. 

I  arose.  I  assisted  her  to  arise.  Each  of  the  sobs  that, 
from  time  to  time,  still  shook  her,  increased  in  me  this 
inexplicable  rancor. 

It  is  then  quite  true  that  certain  germs  of  hate  are  dis- 
simulated at  the  bottom  of  every  sentiment  which  unites  two 
human  creatures ;  that  is  to  say,  which  connects  two  ego- 
isms ?  It  is  then  quite  true  that  these  germs  of  inevitable 
hate  disturb  our  most  affectionate  moments,  our  best  im- 
pulses ?  All  there  is  beautiful  in  the  soul  bears  in  itself 
a  latent  germ  of  corruption,  is  condemned  to  become  cor- 
rupted. 

I  said  (and  I  feared  that  involuntarily  the  tone  of  my 
voice  was  not  sufficiently  gentle)  : 

"  Be  calm,  Juliana.  The  moment  has  come  to  be  cour- 
ageous. Come,  sit  down.  Becalm.  Will  you  have  a  drink 
of  water  ?  Will  you  smell  some  salts  ?  Answer  !  " 

"Yes,  give  me  a  little  water.  You  will  find  it  in  the 
alcove  on  the  night  table." 

Her  voice  was  still  tearful ;  and  she  dried  her  face  with  a 
handkerchief,  seated  on  a  low  divan,  facing  the  large  mirror 
of  a  closet.  She  had  not  ceased  sobbing  convulsively. 

I  entered  the  alcove  to  get  the  glass.  I  perceived  the  bed 
in  the  shadow.  It  was  already  made  ;  a  corner  of  the  cov- 
ers was  raised  and  thrown  back,  a  long  white  night-dress 
was  laid  close  to  the  pillow.  Immediately  my  subtle  and 
keen  sense  of  smell  detected  the  slight  perfume  of  the 
batiste,  a  faint  odor  of  orris  and  violet,  so  familiar  to  me. 
The  sight  of  the  bed,  the  odor  of  the  familiar  perfume,  dis- 
turbed me  deeply.  I  hastened  to  pour  out  the  water,  and  I 
left  the  alcove  to  take  the  glass  to  Juliana,  who  was  waiting. 


192  THE    INTRUDER. 

She  swallowed  a  few  mouthfuls,  a  little  at  a  time,  while 
I,  standing  before  her,  attentively  observed  the  movement 
of  her  mouth. 

"Thank  you,  Tullio,"  she  said. 

She  gave  me  back  the  glass,  still  half  full.  As  I  was 
thirsty,  I  drank  the  water  which  remained.  That  mechanical 
action  sufficed  to  increase  my  agitation.  I  sat  down,  in  my 
turn,  on  the  divan.  And  we  remained  silent,  both  absorbed 
in  our  reflections,  separated  only  by  a  short  distance. 

The  divan  with  our  figures  was  reflected  in  the  mirror  of 
the  closet.  We  could  see  each  other's  faces  without  look- 
ing at  one  another,  but  rather  confusedly,  because  the 
light  was  feeble  and  vacillating.  On  the  vague  surface  of 
the  glass  I  intently  examined  Juliana's  silhouette,  which, 
in  its  immobility,  gradually  acquired  a  mysterious  aspect, 
the  disquieting  fascination  of  certain  women's  portraits 
obscured  by  time,  the  intensity  of  fictitious  life  possessed  by 
beings  born  of  a  hallucination.  And,  gradually,  this  dis- 
tant image  seemed  to  me  more  living  than  the  real  person. 
Gradually  I  saw  in  that  image  the  caressing  wife,  the  volup- 
tuous woman,  the  mistress,  the  unfaithful  one. 

I  closed  my  eyes.  The  Other  rose  up  before  me.  One 
of  my  usual  visions  appeared. 

I  thought:  "Up  to  now,  she  has  made  no  direct  allu- 
sion to  her  fall,  to  the  circumstances  of  her  fall.  She  has 
uttered  only  one  significant  phrase  :  '  Do  you  think  the  sin 
is  grave  when  the  soul  has  not  consented?  '  And  what  did 
that  mean  ?  It  was  only  one  of  those  subtle  distinctions 
to  which  one  has  usually  recourse  to  excuse  and  extenuate 
one's  treason  and  infamy.  I  suffered  a  nameless  torture. 
The  furious  desire  to  know  all  racked  my  soul  ;  the  material 
visions  exasperated  me.  The  Other,  since  the  instant  in 
which  he  had  risen  in  my  thoughts,  had  not  ceased  for  a 


THE    INTRUDER.  193 

moment  to  beset  my  mind.  Was  it  Filippo  Arborio  ? 
Had  I  guessed  correctly  ?  ' ' 

Suddenly  I  turned  toward  Juliana.  She  looked  at  me. 
But  the  question  choked  in  my  throat.  I  lowered  my  eyes, 
bent  my  head,  and  with  the  same  spasmodic  resistance  that 
I  should  have  felt  on  plucking  a  fragment  of  my  flesh  from 
some  part  of  my  body,  I  dared  to  ask  her : 

' '  The  name  of  that  man  ?  ' ' 

My  voice,  trembling  and  hoarse,  frightened  even  myself. 

At  this  unexpected  demand,  Juliana  started,  but  remained 
silent. 

"You  do  not  answer?"  I  insisted,  forcing  myself  to 
repress  the  anger  that  was  on  the  point  of  invading  me, 
that  blind  anger  which,  on  the  previous  night,  already  had 
passed  over  my  mind  like  a  whirlwind. 

"Ah!  My  God  !  "  she  moaned,  despairingly;  and  she 
sank  down  in  a  heap  on  the  divan,  burying  her  face  in  the 
cushion.  "  My  God  !  My  God!" 

But  I  wished  to  know ;  I  wished,  at  any  cost,  to  tear  the 
avowal  from  her. 

"Do  you  remember,"  I  went  on,  "do  you  remember 
that  morning  when  I  entered  your  room  unexpectedly,  early 
in  November  ?  Do  you  remember  ?  I  entered  without 
knowing  why,  perhaps  because  I  heard  you  singing.  You 
were  singing  the  air  from  '  Orphee ' ;  you  were  preparing 
to  go  out.  Do  you  remember  ?  I  saw  a  book  on  your 
dressing-table,  I  opened  it,  I  read  on  the  fly-leaf  a  dedica- 
tion. It  was  a  novel,  The  Secret.  Do  you  remember  ?  ' ' 

She  remained  with  her  face  buried  in  the  cushion,  and 
made  no  reply.  I  stooped  over  her.  I  trembled  with  a 
chill  like  that  which  precedes  a  fever.  I  added : 

"  It  is  perhaps  he  ?" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  she  raised  her  head  with  a  motion 
13 


194  THE    INTRUDER. 

of  despair.  She  seemed  distracted.  She  made  a  gesture 
as  if  about  to  throw  herself  on  me,  then  stopped,  crying : 

"  Have  pity  !  Have  pity  !  Let  me  die  !  What  you 
are  making  me  suffer  is  worse  than  a  thousand  deaths.  I 
have  borne  everything,  I  am  capable  of  bearing  everything ; 
but  not  that,  no,  I  cannot,  I  cannot.  If  I  live  it  will 
mean  for  us  both  a  constant  martyrdom — a  martyrdom  that 
will  daily  become  more  terrible.  And  you  will  begin  to 
hate  me,  all  your  hate  will  be  vented  on  me.  I  am  sure  of 
it,  sure.  I  have  already  felt  the  hate  in  your  voice.  Have 
pity!  Let  me  die!" 

She  seemed  distracted.  She  had  a  furious  desire  to  seize 
hold  of  me ;  but  not  daring  she  twisted  her  hands  in  an 
effort  to  control  herself,  her  whole  body  convulsed.  I 
seized  her  by  the  arms,  and  drew  her  toward  me. 

"  So  I  am  to  know  nothing  ?"  I  said  to  her,  speaking 
almost  on  her  mouth,  now  distracted  myself,  carried  away 
by  a  cruel  instinct  that  made  my  hands  rough. 

"  I  love  you,  I  have  always  loved  you,  I  have  always 
been  yours.  I  expiate  by  this  hell  a  moment's  weakness — 
do  you  understand  ?  One  moments  weakness  /  That  is  the 
truth.  Cannot  you  feel  that  it  is  the  truth  ?  " 

Once  more,  overwhelmed  by  the  weight  of  our  misfor- 
tune, I  clasped  the  poor  trembling  creature  to  my  heart  and 
silently  kissed  away  her  scalding  tears. 


XVII. 

THE  external  indications  of  Juliana's  condition  were  not 
yet  visible.  The  tie  that  bound  the  infant  to  the  mother 
must  be  very  frail.  How  was  it  that  the  violent  emotions 
of  the  day  at  the  Lilacs  and  of  the  following  night  had  not 
sufficed  to  provoke  a  liberating  crisis  ?  Everything  was 
against  me,  everything  conspired  against  me.  And  my 
hate  became  more  savage.  To  prevent  the  birth  of  the 
child,  such  was  my  secret  design. 

And  I  considered  the  future  with  a  sort  of  divining 
clear-sightedness.  Juliana  would  give  birth  to  a  boy,  sole 
heir  of  our  ancient  name.  The  son  who  was  not  mine 
would  grow  up  without  accident ;  he  would  usurp  the  love 
of  my  mother  and  my  brother;  he  would  be  caressed, 
adored ;  he  would  be  preferred  to  Maria  and  to  Natalia,  my 
own  creations.  The  force  of  habit  would  dull  Juliana's 
remorse;  she  would  abandon  herself  without  restraint  to 
her  maternal  feeling.  And  the  son  who  was  not  mine  would 
grow  up  under  her  protection,  surrounded  by  her  assiduous 
cares ;  he  would  become  robust  and  handsome  ;  he  would 
become  capricious  like  a  little  despot ;  he  would  reign  in 
my  house.  By  degrees  these  visions  became  particularized. 
Such  or  such  an  imaginary  spectacle  took  the  shape  and 
motion  of  an  actual  scene  ;  such  or  such  a  trait  of  that 
imaginary  life  was  impressed  so  strongly  in  my  conscious- 
ness that  it  retained  there  for  some  time  the  characteristics 
of  an  effective  reality.  The  child's  traits  were  modified  to 


Ip6  THE    INTRUDER. 

infinity;  his  acts,  his  gestures,  were  diversified  without 
cease.  At  times  I  represented  him  to  myself  as  being  thin, 
pale,  taciturn,  with  a  large,  heavy  head  bent  on  his  chest ; 
at  other  times  I  saw  him  all  rosy,  plump,  gay,  chattering, 
graceful  and  coaxing,  particularly  affectionate  toward  me, 
very  good ;  at  other  times,  on  the  contrary,  he  was  nervous, 
bilious,  a  little  spiteful,  full  of  intelligence  and  evil 
instincts,  rough  with  his  sisters,  cruel  to  animals,  incapable 
of  tenderness,  undisciplinable.  This  last  image  ended  by 
dominating  all  the  others,  eliminated  them  by  becoming 
more  lasting,  fixed  itself  into  a  precise  type,  became  ani- 
mated with  an  intense  chimerical  life,  ended  by  taking  a 
name  :  the  name  that  I  had  long  since  chosen  for  the  male 
heir,  my  father's  name,  Raymond. 

That  little  perverse  phantom  was  a  direct  emanation  of 
my  hate,  and  he  bore  against  me  a  hostility  equal  to  that 
I  had  for  him.  He  was  an  enemy,  an  adversary,  with 
whom  I  was  about  to  begin  a  struggle.  He  was  my  victim, 
and  I  was  his.  I  could  not  escape  from  him;  he  could  not 
escape  from  me.  We  were  both  shut  in  as  it  were  in  a 
circle  of  iron. 

He  had  gray  eyes  like  Filippo  Arborio.  Among  the  vari- 
ous expressions  of  his  face  one  struck  me  above  all,  in  an 
imaginary  scene  that  often  arose  before  me.  This  scene  is 
as  follows  :  I  entered  a  room  filled  with  darkness,  with 
strange  silence.  I  thought  I  was  alone  there.  All  at  once, 
on  turning  round,  I  perceived  Raymond  looking  at  me 
fixedly  with  his  gray  and  wicked  eyes.  Suddenly  the 
temptation  to  commit  the  crime  assailed  me  so  strongly 
that,  so  as  not  to  throw  myself  on  the  malefic  being,  I  took 
to  flight. 


XVIII. 

BETWEEN  Juliana  and  me  the  compact  appeared  con- 
cluded. She  lived.  We  both  continued  to  live,  simulat- 
ing and  dissimulating.  Like  dipsomaniacs,  we  had  two 
alternate  lives  :  the  one  tranquil,  made  up  entirely  of  gentle 
appearances,  of  filial  tendernesses,  pure  affection,  recipro- 
cal complaisances;  the  other  agitated,  feverish,  troubled, 
uncertain,  hopeless,  a  prey  to  a  fixed  idea,  forever  pursued 
by  a  menace,  precipitated  toward  an  unknown  catastrophe. 

There  were  rare  moments  when  my  soul,  seeking  to  avoid 
so  much  misery,  to  free  itself  from  the  curse  that  enveloped 
it  like  a  thousand  tentacles,  burst  forth  with  an  aspiration 
toward  the  highest  ideal  of  goodness,  a  glimpse  of  which  I 
had  more  than  once  had.  My  memory  recalled  to  me  the 
singular  words  of  my  brother  at  the  entrance  to  Assoro 
forest  on  the  subject  of  Giovanni  di  Scordio  :  "  You  will  do 
well,  Tullio,  not  to  forget  that  smile."  And  that  smile  on 
the  old  man's  withered  mouth  acquired  a  profound  signi- 
ficance, became  extraordinarily  luminous,  exalted  me  like 
the  revelation  of  a  supreme  verity. 

Almost  always,  during  these  rare  moments,  I  also  saw 
another  smile,  that  of  Juliana  lying  ill  on  her  pillows,  that 
unexpected  smile,  which  decreased,  decreased,  without  dis- 
appearing. And  the  remembrance  of  the  distant  peaceful 
afternoon  when  I  had  intoxicated  the  poor  invalid  with 
deceptive  transports,  the  recollection  of  the  morning  when 
she  rose  for  the  first  time  and  when,  in  the  middle  of  the 


198  THE    INTRUDER. 

room,  she  had  fallen  into  my  arms,  laughing  and  panting, 
the  recollection  of  the  truly  divine  gesture  with  which  she 
had  offered  me  love,  indulgence,  peace,  dreams,  forgetful- 
ness,  all  that  there  is  beautiful  and  all  that  there  is  good, 
caused  me  hopeless  regrets  and  infinite  remorse.  The 
sweet  and  terrible  question  that  Andre  Bolkonsky  had  read 
on  the  dead  face  of  the  Princess  Lisa,  I  read  unceasingly 
on  the  still  living  face  of  Juliana.  "  What  have  you  done 
to  me  ?  "  No  reproach  had  issued  from  her  lips ;  she  had 
not  attempted  to  lessen  the  gravity  of  her  sin,  to  interpose 
any  one  of  my  own  infamies ;  she  had  been  humble  before 
her  executioner ;  not  a  drop  of  bitterness  had  tinged  her 
words.  And  yet  her  eyes  repeated  to  me,  "What  have 
you  done  to  me  ?  ' ' 

A  strange  sacrificial  ardor  suddenly  fired  me,  impelled 
me  to  take  up  my  cross.  The  grandeur  of  the  expiation 
seemed  worthy  of  my  courage.  I  felt  in  myself  a  super- 
abundance of  strength,  a  heroic  soul,  an  inspired  intel- 
ligence. On  going  toward  the  sorrowful  sister,  I  thought : 
"I  will  find  the  kind  words  that  will  console  her,  I  will 
find  the  fraternal  tones  that  will  alleviate  her  pain,  that 
will  clear  her  brow."  But  directly  I  entered  her  presence, 
I  could  no  longer  speak;  my  lips  seemed  sealed  with  an 
infrangible  seal,  all  my  being  seemed  stricken  by  a  male- 
fice.  The  internal  light  suddenly  died  out,  as  if  extin- 
guished by  an  icy  wind  of  unknown  origin.  And  in  the 
shadows  began  to  move  vaguely  that  dull  rancor  which  I 
had  so  often  felt  and  which  I  was  powerless  to  repress. 

It  was  the  symptom  of  an  attack.  I  stammered  a  few 
incoherent  words.  I  avoided  Juliana's  eyes,  and  I  fled  from 
the  room. 


XIX. 

IT  is  unbelievable  how  much  energy  she  displayed  in  dis- 
simulating before  those  who  were  ignorant  of  the  facts. 
She  still  succeeded  in  smiling  !  My  known  anxiety  for  her 
health  furnished  me  with  a  pretext  that  justified  a  certain 
sadness  that  I  could  not  succeed  in  disguising.  This  anx- 
iety, shared  by  my  mother  and  by  my  brother,  resulted  in 
the  coming  event  not  being  looked  upon  as  cause  for  rejoic- 
ing, as  the  previous  births  had  been,  and  everyone  avoided 
making  the  usual  allusions  or  predictions.  I  was  grateful 
for  that. 

Finally,  Dr.  Vebesti  arrived  at  the  Badiola. 

His  visit  reassured  us.  He  said  Juliana  was  very  much 
run  down ;  he  noticed  in  her  a  slight  nervous  irritability, 
an  impoverishment  of  the  blood,  a  general  disturbance  of 
the  nutritive  functions  ;  but  he  affirmed  that  the  progress  of 
the  gestation  presented  no  notable  anomaly,  and  that, 
when  the  general  condition  was  improved,  delivery  could 
take  place  under  normal  conditions.  Besides,  he  gave  us 
to  understand  that  he  placed  considerable  confidence  in 
Juliana's  exceptional  temperament,  whose  extraordinary 
power  of  resistance  he  had  had  occasion  to  test  in  the  past. 
He  prescribed  careful  hygiene  and  a  reconstructive  diet, 
approved  of  the  stay  at  the  Badiola,  recommended  regular- 
ity, moderate  exercise,  and  tranquillity  of  mind. 

"  I  count  particularly  on  you,"  he  said  to  me,  seriously. 

It  was  a  disappointment  to  me.     I  had  placed  in  him  a, 


200  THE    INTRUDER. 

hope  of  salvation,  and,  lo,  I  had  lost  it.  Before  his 
arrival,  I  nourished  this  hope  :  "  If  he  would  only  declare 
it  necessary,  in  order  to  preserve  the  mother,  to  sacrifice 
the  still  formless  child  !  If  he  would  only  declare  it  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  avoid  a  certain  catastrophe  at  the  comple- 
tion of  the  term,  to  have  recourse  to  extreme  measures  and 
suppress  the  child  !  Juliana  would  be  saved,  she  would 
get  well ;  and  I  too  would  be  saved,  I  should  feel  as  if 
reborn.  It  would  be  possible,  I  believe,  to  almost  forget, 
or  at  least  to  be  resigned.  Time  heals  so  many  wounds, 
and  work  consoles  so  many  sorrows  !  I  could,  I  believe, 
gradually  recover  my  peace,  and  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  fol- 
low my  brother's  example,  become  better,  become  a  man, 
live  for  others,  embrace  the  new  religion.  I  believe  that 
my  very  sorrow  could  help  me  in  regaining  my  dignity. 
The  man  to  whom  it  is  given  to  suffer  more  than  others  is 
also  worthy  of  suffering  more  than  others.  Is  not  that  a 
verse  from  my  brother's  evangel  ?  There  is,  then,  an  elec- 
tion for  pain.  Giovanni  di  Scordio,  for  instance,  is  one 
of  the  elect.  To  possess  such  a  smile  is  to  possess  a  divine 
gift.  I  could,  I  believe,  merit  that  gift."  Such  had  been 
my  hope.  By  a  curious  contradiction,  I  had  hoped  by  my 
expiatory  fervor  to  obtain  a  diminution  of  my  punishment ! 

In  fact,  though  I  wished  to  be  regenerated  by  my  suffer- 
ing, I  was  afraid  to  suffer,  I  had  an  atrocious  fear  of  facing 
actual  pain.  My  soul  was  already  exhausted ;  although  it 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  true  road  and  had  been  agi- 
tated by  Christian  aspirations,  it  stole  away  by  an  oblique 
path  that  led  straight  to  the  inevitable  abyss. 

While  speaking  with  the  doctor,  when  showing  a  slight 
incredulity  at  his  reassuring  predictions,  by  manifesting 
anxiety,  I  found  the  means  of  conveying  my  thoughts  to 
him.  I  made  him  understand  that  I  desired  him,  at  any 


THE    INTRUDER.  2OI 

cost,  to  free  Juliana  from  all  danger,  and  that,  if  it  were 
necessary,  I  would  renounce  this  new  offspring  without 
regret.  I  begged  him  to  speak  to  me  frankly. 

He  reassured  me  a  second  time.  He  declared  to  me 
that,  even  in  a  hopeless  case,  he  would  not  have  recourse  to 
extremes  because,  in  the  state  that  Juliana  was  in,  a  hem- 
orrhage would  be  very  dangerous.  He  repeated  again 
that,  above  all,  we  must  aid  and  stimulate  the  regeneration 
of  the  blood,  reconstitute  the  debilitated  organism,  con- 
trive, by  every  means  in  our  power,  that  the  mother  should 
arrive  at  the  natural  term  of  gestation  with  her  strength 
restored,  with  a  confident  and  tranquil  mind.  He  con- 
cluded : 

"  I  believe  that  your  wife  requires  moral  consolation 
more  than  anything  else.  I  am  an  old  friend.  I  know  that 
she  has  suffered  much.  It  depends  on  you  to  pacify  her 
mind." 


XX. 


MY  mother  redoubled  her  tenderness  for  Juliana.  She 
let  her  know  her  cherished  dream  and  her  presentiment. 
It  was  a  grandson  whom  she  awaited,  a  little  Raymond. 
She  was  sure,  this  time. 

My  brother,  too,  expected  Raymond. 

Maria  and  Natalia  often  asked  their  mother,  and  grand- 
mother, and  me,  artless  questions  concerning  their  future 
companion. 

Thus  the  domestic  love,  expressed  by  presages,  wishes, 
and  hopes,  began  to  surround  the  invisible  fruit,  the  being 
that  was  yet  without  form. 

One  day  we  were  seated,  Juliana  and  I,  beneath  the 
elms.  My  mother  had  just  left  us.  During  her  affection- 
ate chat,  she  had  named  Raymond ;  she  had  even  brought 
again  into  use  a  pet  name  that  called  up  distant  memories 
of  my  dead  father.  Juliana  and  I  answered  her  by  a 
smile.  She  believed  that  we  shared  her  dream,  and  she 
had  left  in  order  that  we  might  go  on  dreaming  undis- 
turbed. 

It  was  the  calm  and  limpid  hour  that  follows  the  sunset. 
Above  our  heads,  the  foliage  was  motionless.  From  time 
to  time  a  flock  of  swallows  rapidly  cleft  the  air  with  a 
sound  of  beating  wings,  with  piercing  cries,  as  at  the 
Lilacs. 

Our  eyes  followed  the  sainted  woman  as  long  as  she  was 


THE   INTRUDER.  203 

visible ;  then  we  looked  at  one  another,  silently,  in  conster- 
nation. We  remained  for  several  minutes  without  breaking 
the  silence,  crushed  by  the  immensity  of  our  sorrow.  And 
then,  with  a  terrible  effort  of  my  entire  being,  making  an 
abstraction  of  Juliana,  I  felt  the  little  creature  living 
alone  at  my  side,  as  if,  at  that  moment,  no  other  creature 
existed  near  me,  had  existed  around  me.  And  it  was  not 
an  illusory  sensation,  but  a  real  and  profound  sensation.  A 
thrill  of  horror  ran  through  all  my  fibres  ;  I  started  violently 
and  fixed  my  eyes  on  my  companion's  face  in  order  to 
dissipate  the  sensation.  We  looked  at  one  another,  with- 
out knowing  what  to  say  or  do  to  combat  the  excess  of  our 
anguish.  I  saw  in  her  face  the  reflection  of  my  distress,  I 
divined  my  own  physiognomy.  My  eyes  turned  instinctively 
toward  her  body ;  and  I  perceived  on  her  face  the  same 
expression  of  terror  exhibited  by  invalids  afflicted  by  a  mon- 
strous infirmity,  when  one  looks  at  the  member  deformed 
by  an  incurable  malady. 

After  a  pause,  during  which  we  both  tried  in  vain  to 
measure  our  suffering,  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Have  you  thought  that  this  may  endure  as  long  as  we 
live?" 

My  lips  remained  closed ;  it  was  only  within  myself  that 
was  heard  the  determined  answer : 

"No,  it  will  not  last." 

She  went  on : 

"  Remember  that,  with  a  single  word,  you  can  solve  the 
difficulty  and  free  yourself.  I  am  ready.  Remember." 

I  still  remained  silent,  but  I  thought :  "  No,  it  is  not 
you  who  must  die." 

She  went  on,  in  a  voice  that  tearful  tenderness  rendered 
trembling : 

"  I  cannot  console  you;  there  is  consolation  neither  for 


204  THE    INTRUDER. 

you  nor  for  me ;  there  will  never  be  any.  Have  you 
thought  that  someone  will  always  be  between  us  ?  If  your 
mother's  wish  is  granted —  Think!  Think!" 

But  my  soul  shuddered  beneath  the  sinister  light  of  a 
single  idea.  I  said:  "They  all  love  him  already." 

I  hesitated.  I  gave  Juliana  a  rapid  look.  Then,  sud- 
denly, lowering  my  eyes,  bending  my  head,  I  asked,  in  a 
voice  that  died  away  on  my  lips : 

"  And  you,  do  you  love  him  ?  " 

"Oh  !  what  a  question  !" 

I  could  not  restrain  myself  from  persisting,  although  I 
suffered  physically  as  if  an  open  wound  were  being  torn  by 
nails. 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !     I  have  a  horror  of  him." 

I  felt  an  instinctive  joy,  as  if  I  had  obtained,  by  this 
confession,  an  assent  to  my  secret  idea,  and  a  sort  of  com- 
plicity. But  had  Juliana  answered  me  sincerely  ?  Or  had 
she  told  a  falsehood  out  of  pity  for  me  ? 

I  was  assailed  by  a  cruel  and  furious  desire  to  persist,  to 
make  her  confess  fully,  to  penetrate  to  the  very  depths  of 
her  soul.  But  her  appearance  stopped  me.  I  abstained. 
I  now  felt  no  bitterness  toward  her.  I  was  now  drawn 
toward  her  by  an  emotion  of  gratitude.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  horror  she  had  shudderingly  confessed  sepa- 
rated her  from  the  creature  whom  she  was  nourishing,  and 
brought  her  closer  to  me.  I  felt  a  desire  to  make  her 
understand  these  things,  and  increase  her  aversion  to  the 
infant  to  be  born,  as  if  against  an  irreconcilable  enemy 
of  us  both. 

I  took  her  hand  ;  I  said  to  her  : 

"You  have  comforted  me  a  little.  I  thank  you.  You 
understand " 


THE    INTRUDER.  205 

And  I  added,  masking  my  homicidal  intention  by  a 
Christian  hope : 

"There  is  a  Providence.  Who  knows?  The  day  of 
deliverance  will  come,  perhaps.  You  understand  me.  Who 
knows  ?  Pray  to  God." 

It  was  a  presage  of  death  for  the  infant  to  be  born ;  it 
was  a  wish.  And,  by  inducing  Juliana  to  pray  that  it 
should  come  to  pass,  I  was  preparing  her  for  the  funereal 
event,  I  obtained  from  her  a  sort  of  moral  complicity.  I 
ended  by  thinking : 

"  If,  as  a  result  of  my  words,  the  suggestion  of  crime 
should  come  to  her,  and,  gradually,  become  strong  enough 
to  actuate  her  ?  Certainly  it  is  possible  that  she  may  con- 
vince herself  of  the  dreadful  necessity,  that  she  may 
elevate  herself  to  the  thought  of  my  deliverance,  that  she 
may  experience  a  burst  of  savage  energy,  that  she  may 
accomplish  the  supreme  sacrifice.  Did  she  not  repeat 
just  now  that  she  was  still  ready  to  die  ?  But  her  death 
includes  that  of  her  child.  Therefore,  she  is  not  restrained 
by  any  religious  prejudice,  by  the  fear  of  sinning;  since  she 
is  ready  to  die,  she  is  ready  to  commit  a  double  crime, 
against  herself  and  against  maternity.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  is  convinced  that  her  existence  on  earth  is 
useful,  even  indispensable  to  the  persons  who  love  her 
and  whom  she  loves ;  and  she  is  also  convinced  that  the 
existence  of  the  son  who  is  not  mine  will  make  an  intoler- 
able torture  of  our  lives.  She  knows,  too,  that  we  could 
draw  closer  together,  that  we  could,  perhaps,  in  forgiveness 
and  forgetfulness,  regain  some  happiness,  that  we  could 
hope  from  time  the  cure  of  the  wound,  if  between  her  and 
me  no  intruder  interposed.  It  suffices,  then,  that  she  should 
reflect  on  all  that  to  rapidly  convert  a  useless  desire  and  an 
inefficacious  prayer  into  a  resolution  and  an  act."  I  medi- 


206  THE   INTRUDER. 

tated ;  she  also  meditated  silently,  her  head  lowered,  with- 
out removing  her  hand  from  mine,  while  deep  in  the  shadows 
of  the  great  motionless  elms. 

What  were  her  thoughts  ?  Her  brow  still  retained  the 
pallor  of  death.  With  the  fall  of  evening,  was  another 
shadow  descending  upon  her,  too  ? 

I  seemed  to  see  Raymond.  But  no  longer  in  the  form 
of  a  perverse  and  treacherous  gray-eyed  child;  but  with 
the  form  of  a  miserable  little  body,  soft  and  reddish, 
scarcely  breathing,  and  which  the  slightest  pressure  would 
kill. 

The  bell  at  the  Badiola  sounded  the  first  strokes  of  the 
Angelus.  Juliana  withdrew  her  hand  from  mine  and  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross. 


XXI. 

THE  fourth  and  fifth  months  passed  and  the  gestation 
began  to  develop  rapidly.  Juliana's  person,  slender,  supple, 
and  flexible,  enlarged  and  naturally  conformed  to  her  con- 
dition. She  felt  herself  humiliated  before  me  as  by  a 
disgraceful  infirmity.  A  poignant  suffering  appeared  on 
her  face  when  she  caught  my  eyes  fixed  on  her  heavy  figure. 

I  felt  overwhelmed,  incapable  of  bearing  any  longer  the 
weight  of  this  miserable  existence.  Every  morning,  when 
I  opened  my  eyes  after  an  agitated  slumber,  I  felt  as 
if  someone  had  given  me  a  deep  cup,  saying:  "If  you 
wish  to  drink,  if  you  wish  to  live  to-day,  you  must  shed 
into  this  cup  the  last  drop  of  your  heart's  blood."  At 
each  awakening  a  repugnance,  a  disgust,  an  indefinable 
repulsion  assailed  me  in  the  most  secret  recesses  of  my 
being.  And  yet  I  must  live. 

The  days  were  cruelly  long.  Time  scarcely  passed :  it 
fell  drop  by  drop,  lazily  and  heavily.  And  I  still  had  the 
summer  before  me,  part  of  the  autumn,  an  eternity.  I 
tried  to  imitate  my  brother,  to  aid  him  in  the  extensive 
agricultural  labors  that  he  had  undertaken,  to  become  enthu- 
siastic with  the  fire  of  his  faith.  I  remained  on  horseback 
for  whole  days,  like  &buttero  ;  I  tired  myself  out  with  manual 
labor,  at  some  easy  and  monotonous  employment ;  I  sought 
to  dull  the  point  of  my  conscience  by  a  prolonged  contact 
with  the  men  of  the  soil,  simple  and  upright  souls,  those 
whom  the  moral  precepts  received  from  their  ancestors 


208  THE   INTRUDER. 

prompted  to  perform  their  functions  just  as  naturally  as  the 
corporeal  organs  performed  theirs.  Several  times  I  went 
to  visit  Giovanni  di  Scordio,  the  hermit  saint;  I  wished 
to  hear  his  voice,  I  wished  to  interrogate  him  concerning 
his  misfortunes,  I  wished  to  see  once  more  his  sad  eyes 
and  his  sweet  smile.  But  he  hardly  spoke;  he  was  a 
little  timid  with  me ;  he  barely  answered  me  by  a  few  vague 
words;  he  did  not  love  to  speak  of  himself,  he  did  not  care 
to  complain,  he  did  not  stop  at  the  labor  at  which  he  was 
occupied.  His  hands,  bony,  dried,  and  sunburnt,  that 
seemed  as  if  cast  in  living  bronze,  were  never  idle,  perhaps 
did  not  know  fatigue.  One  day,  I  exclaimed : 

"  When  will  your  hands  ever  rest  ?  " 

The  good  man  looked  down  at  his  hands  with  a  smile  ; 
he  looked  at  the  backs  and  then  at  the  palms,  turned  them 
over  and  over  in  the  sunlight.  That  look,  that  smile,  that 
sunlight,  that  gesture,  conferred  on  those  great  calloused 
hands  a  sovereign  nobility.  Hardened  by  the  agricultural 
instruments,  sanctified  by  the  good  they  had  shed,  by  the 
immense  labor  they  had  performed,  those  hands  were  now 
worthy  of  bearing  the  palm. 

The  old  man  crossed  them  on  his  breast,  according  to  the 
Christian  mortuary  rites,  and  answered,  without  ceasing  to 
smile  : 

"Very  soon,  signor,  if  it  please  God.  When  I  am  laid, 
in  this  fashion,  in  the  coffin.  Amen  !  " 


XXII. 

EVERY  remedy  was  tried  in  vain.  Labor  did  not  solace 
me,  did  not  console  me,  because  it  was  excessive,  unequal, 
irregular,  feverish,  frequently  interrupted  by  periods  of 
unconquerable  inertia  and  depression. 

My  brother  warned  me  : 

"  You  are  not  following  the  proper  rule.  You  spend  in 
one  week  six  months'  energy  ;  then  you  let  yourself  fall  back 
into  indolence;  then,  without  moderation,  you  recommence 
to  exhaust  yourself  with  fatigue.  That  is  not  what  health 
demands.  To  be  effective,  your  work  must  be  calm,  con- 
cordant, harmonic.  Do  you  understand  ?  We  must  pre- 
scribe a  method  for  you.  But  you  have  the  fault  of  all 
novices — excessive  ardor.  Later  on  you  will  be  calmer." 

My  brother  said : 

"  You  have  not  yet  found  your  equilibrium.  You  do  not 
yet  feel  terra  firma  beneath  your  feet.  But  have  no  fear. 
Sooner  or  later,  you  will  succeed  in  grasping  the  law.  That 
will  come  to  you  unexpectedly,  when  you  least  expect  it." 

He  said  also : 

"This  time,  Juliana  will  surely  give  you  an  heir — Ray- 
mond. I  have  already  thought  of  the  godfather.  Giovanni 
di  Scordio  will  hold  your  son  at  the  baptismal  font.  He 
is  the  worthiest  godfather  you  could  possibly  find  for  him. 
Giovanni  will  inspire  him  with  goodness  and  strength. 
When  Raymond  is  old  enough  to  understand,  we  will  speak 
to  him  of  this  noble  old  man.  And  your  son  will  be  what 
14 


210  THE    INTRUDER. 

we  could  not  have  been,  what  we  have  not  been  able  to 
be." 

He  often  returned  to  this  subject,  he  often  pronounced 
the  name  of  Raymond,  he  prayed  for  the  child  to  be  born 
his  incarnate  ideal  of  the  human  type — the  Model.  He  did 
not  know  that  every  one  of  his  words  was  for  me  like  the 
thrust  of  a  poniard  which  exasperated  my  hate,  and  ren- 
dered my  despair  more  violent. 

Everyone  conspired  against  me  unknowingly,  everyone 
was  constantly  distressing  me.  When  I  approached  one  of 
my  family,  I  felt  anxious  and  fearful,  as  if  I  were  compelled 
to  remain  near  a  person  who,  holding  some  terrible  weapon, 
knew  neither  how  to  use  it  nor  its  danger.  I  was  in  con- 
tinual expectation  of  being  wounded.  To  enjoy  a  short 
truce,  I  was  compelled  to  seek  solitude  and  flee  far  from 
my  own;  but  in  solitude  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with 
my  worst  enemy,  myself. 

I  felt  that  I  was  secretly  going  into  a  decline ;  it  seemed 
to  me  that  my  life  was  ebbing  away  through  every  pore.  At 
times  there  were  reproduced  in  me  conditions  of  soul  that 
had  belonged  to  the  most  obscure  period  of  my  past,  hence- 
forth so  distant.  At  times  I  preserved  only  the  intimate 
feeling  of  my  own  isolation  amidst  the  inert  phantoms  of 
all  things.  For  long  hours,  I  had  no  other  sensation  but 
that  of  the  continuous  and  crushing  weight  of  life  and  of 
that  of  the  slight  throbbing  of  an  artery  in  my  head. 

Then  survened  ironies,  sarcasms  against  myself,  sudden 
furious  desires  to  rend  and  destroy,  pitiless  derisions,  fero- 
cious wickedness,  an  acute  fermentation  of  the  most  abject 
dregs.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  no  longer  knew  what  indul- 
gence, pity,  tenderness,  goodness  meant.  Every  inner 
source  of  good  was  obstructed,  dried  up  like  fountains 
stricken  by  a  malediction.  And  then  I  no  longer  saw  in 


THE    INTRUDER.  211 

Juliana  anything  but  the  brutal  fact,  the  pregnancy ;  I  no 
longer  saw  in  myself  anything  but  the  ridiculed  person,  the 
satirized  husband,  the  stupid  hero  of  the  classic  farce. 
The  inner  sarcasm  spared  none  of  my  actions,  none  of 
Juliana's  actions.  The  drama  became  metamorphosed  for 
me  into  a  bitter  and  farcical  comedy.  Nothing  restrained 
me  longer ;  every  bond  broke ;  a  violent  rupture  took  place. 
And  I  said  to  myself :  "  Why  should  I  rest  here  and  play 
this  odious  role  ?  I  will  go  away,  go  back  into  society, 
back  to  my  early  life,  back  to  libertinism.  I  will  close 
my  eyes  to  everything.  I  will  lose  myself.  What  does  it 
matter  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  be  what  I  am,  mire  within  mire. 
Phew!" 


XXIII. 

DURING  one  of  these  attacks  I  resolved  to  leave  the 
Badiola,  to  depart  for  Rome,  to  go  I  knew  not  where. 

I  had  a  pretext  ready.  As  we  had  not  anticipated  so 
long  an  absence,  we  had  left  the  town  house  temporarily. 
It  was  urgent  to  regulate  various  affairs  and  take  measures 
that  our  absence  might  be  prolonged  indefinitely. 

I  announced  my  departure.  I  persuaded  my  mother, 
brother,  and  Juliana  that  it  was  necessary;  I  promised  to 
hurry  and  return  in  a  few  days.  I  made  my  preparations. 

The  evening  before  I  left,  late  in  the  night,  while  I  was 
strapping  a  valise,  I  heard  a  knock  at  my  door.  I  said  : 

"Come  in!" 

I  was  surprised  to  see  Juliana. 

"Ah!     Is  it  you?" 

I  went  forward  to  meet  her.  She  was  panting  a  little, 
fatigued  perhaps  by  the  stairs.  I  made  her  sit  down.  I 
offered  her  a  cup  of  cold  tea  with  a  thin  slice  of  lemon,  a 
beverage  that  used  to  please  her  and  that  had  been  prepared 
for  me.  She  scarcely  wet  her  lips,  and  handed  it  back. 
Her  eyes  revealed  her  anxiety. 

Finally  she  said  timidly  : 

"So  you  are  going  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.    "  To-morrow  morning,  as  you  know." 

Then  followed  a  long  interval  of  silence.  Through  the 
open  windows  entered  a  delicious  coolness ;  the  rays  of  the 
full  moon  lit  up  the  house  and  garden;  the  choir  of  chirp- 


THE    INTRUDER.  213 

ing  crickets  could  be  heard,  like  the  sharp  and  indefinitely 
distant  sound  of  a  flute. 

She  asked  me  in  a  changed  voice  : 

"  When  will  you  return  ?     Tell  me  frankly." 

"  I do  not  know"  I  answered. 

There  was  a  new  pause.  A  light  breeze  came  in  from  time 
to  time,  and  the  curtains  swelled ;  every  breath  carried  into 
the  room  as  far  as  us  the  voluptuousness  of  that  summer 
night. 

"  Are  you  deserting  me  ?  " 

There  was  such  profound  distress  in  her  voice  that  my 
studied  coolness  suddenly  gave  way  to  regret  and  pity. 

"No,"  I  answered.  "Don't  be  alarmed,  Juliana.  I 
need  a  little  rest.  I  can  stand  it  no  longer.  I  must  have 
breathing  room." 

"You  are  right,"  she  answered. 

"  I  think  I  shall  soon  come  back,  as  I  promised.  I  will 
write  to  you.  You,  too,  will  perhaps  feel  relief  at  not  see- 
ing me  suffer." 

"  Relief,"  she  said.     "  No,  never." 

A  choking  sob  quivered  in  her  voice.  She  added,  imme- 
diately, in  a  tone  of  heart-breaking  anguish  : 

"Tullio,  Tullio,  tell  me  the  truth!  Do  you  hate  me  ? 
Tell  me  the  truth!" 

Her  eyes  interrogated  me,  more  agonized  even  than  her 
words.  For  an  instant  her  very  soul  seemed  fixed  on  me. 
And  those  poor  eyes,  wide  open,  that  pure-looking  brow, 
that  contracted  mouth,  that  emaciated  chin,  all  that  frail, 
unhappy  face  which  contrasted  with  the  lower  ignominious 
deformity,  and  those  hands,  those  frail,  sorrowful  hands 
that  stretched  toward  me  with  such  a  supplicating  gesture, 
pained  me  more  than  ever,  moved  me  to  pity  and  sympathy. 

"  Believe  me,  Juliana;  believe  me  once  for  all.      I  feel 


214  THE    INTRUDER. 

no  resentment  toward  you,  and  I  never  shall.  I  do  not 
forget  that  I  am  your  debtor ;  I  forget  nothing.  Have  I 
not  already  proved  it  ?  Be  reassured.  Think  now  of  your 
deliverance.  And,  besides,  who  knows  ?  But,  in  any  case, 
Juliana,  I  will  not  disappoint  you.  Let  me  go  for  the 
time  being.  Perhaps  a  few  days'  absence  will  do  me  good. 
I  shall  be  calmer  when  I  return.  Calmness  is  very  nec- 
essary for  what  is  to  follow.  You  will  need  all  my  assist- 
ance." 

She  said : 

"  Thank  you.     Do  with  me  what  you  will." 

A  human  chant  now  came  to  us  through  the  darkness, 
covering  the  shrill  sound  of  the  rural  concert — perhaps  a 
choir  of  reapers  in  the  moonlight  on  some  distant  field. 

"  Do  you  hear  ?  "  I  said. 

We  listened.  We  felt  the  breath  of  the  breeze.  All  the 
voluptuousness  of  the  summer  night  filled  my  heart. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  sit  down  on  the  terrace  ?"  I  asked 
Juliana,  gently. 

She  consented,  and  rose.  We  passed  through  an  adjoin- 
ing room,  where  there  was  no  other  light  than  that  of  the 
full  moon.  A  great  white  wave,  resembling  immaterial 
milk,  inundated  the  floor.  As  she  preceded  me  to  go  out 
on  the  terrace,  I  could  see  her  deformed  shadow  outlined 
in  black  in  the  light. 

Ah  !  where  was  the  slender  and  supple  creature  whom  I 
had  taken  in  my  arms  ?  Where  was  the  lover  I  had  found 
once  more  beneath  the  flowering  lilacs,  that  April  noon  ? 
In  a  second,  my  heart  was  invaded  with  every  regret,  with 
every  desire,  with  every  despair. 

Juliana  sat  down  and  leaned  her  head  on  the  iron  of  the 
balustrade.  Her  face,  fully  illuminated,  was  whiter  than 
all  its  surroundings,  whiter  than  the  wall.  Her  eyes  were 


THE    INTRUDER.  215 

half-closed.  The  eyelids  cast  a  shadow  on  her  cheek-bones 
that  agitated  me  more  than  a  look  would  have  done. 

How  could  I  utter  a  word  ? 

I  turned  toward  the  valley,  and  leaned  on  the  balustrade, 
grasping  the  cold  iron  with  my  fingers.  I  saw  beneath  me 
an  enormous  heap  of  confused  appearances,  in  which  I 
noticed  only  the  reflection  of  the  Assoro.  The  chant  came 
to  us  or  was  interrupted,  as  the  breeze  rose  or  fell,  and, 
during  the  pauses,  was  again  heard  the  shrill  flute-sound, 
indefinitely  distant.  Never  had  a  night  appeared  to  me  so 
full  of  sweetness  and  sorrow.  From  the  extreme  depth  of 
my  soul  arose  a  cry,  piercing  and  yet  not  audible,  towards 
the  lost  felicity. 


XXIV. 

SCARCELY  had  I  arrived  in  Rome,  when  I  was  sorry  I  had 
come.  I  found  the  city  burning  hot,  on  fire,  almost  de- 
serted ;  and  that  frightened  me.  The  house  was  silent 
as  the  tomb,  and  the  familiar  objects  I  knew  so  well 
presented  an  unusual  and  strange  aspect  ;  and  that  also 
frightened  me.  I  felt  a  sensation  of  solitude,  frightful 
solitude ;  and  yet  I  did  not  go  in  search  of  friends,  I  did 
not  wish  to  remember  or  meet  anyone.  But  I  began  a 
search  for  the  man  whom  I  detested  with  an  implacable 
hate,  the  search  for  Filippo  Arborio. 

I  hoped  to  meet  him  in  some  public  place.  I  went 
to  the  restaurant  which  I  knew  he  frequented.  I  waited 
for  him  an  entire  evening,  premeditating  the  way  in  which 
I  would  provoke  him.  Each  time  I  heard  a  step  of  a 
new  arrival,  my  heart  gave  a  bound.  But  he  did  not 
come.  I  questioned  the  waiters.  They  had  not  seen  him 
for  a  long  time. 

I  went  to  the  salle  d'armes.  The  rooms  were  empty, 
bathed  in  the  greenish  shadow  made  by  the  closed  blinds, 
filled  with  that  peculiar  odor  which  rises  from  wooden  floors 
when  they  are  sprinkled.  The  maestro,  deserted  by  his 
pupils,  greeted  me  with  the  greatest  demonstrations  of 
amiability.  I  listened  attentively  to  the  minute  details 
of  the  last  assault ;  then  I  asked  him  for  news  of  several  of 
my  friends  who  frequented  the  salle ;  finally  I  asked  him 
about  Filippo  Arborio. 


THE   INTRUDER.  217 

"  He  has  not  been  in  Rome  for  four  or  five  months," 
replied  the  maestro.  "  I  have  heard  that  he  has  a  very 
serious  and  almost  incurable  nervous  malady.  I  heard  it 
from  Galiffa.  But  that's  all  I  know  about  it." 

He  added : 

"  In  fact,  he  was  very,  very  weak.  He  only  took  a  few 
lessons  from  me.  He  was  afraid  to  fence ;  he  could  not 
bear  to  see  the  point  of  a  sword  before  his  eyes." 

"Is  Galiffa  still  in  Rome  ?u 

"  No,  he  is  at  Rimini." 

Shortly  after  I  went  away. 

This  unexpected  news  startled  me.  "  If  it  were  only 
true,"  I  thought.  And  I  took  pleasure  in  imagining  that 
it  was  one  of  those  terrible  maladies  of  the  spinal  cord  or 
of  the  cerebral  substance  that  reduce  a  man  to  the  lowest 
degradations,  to  idiocy,,  to  the  most  pitiful  forms  of  mad- 
ness, and  finally  to  death.  The  knowledge  I  had  gained  from 
scientific  books,  the  recollections  of  a  visit  I  had  paid  to  an 
insane  asylum,  the  images,  still  more  precise,  that  I  retained 
of  a  special  case  of  one  of  my  friends,  Spinelli,  repassed 
through  my  memory  in  a  crowd.  And  once  more  I  saw  poor 
Spinelli  seated  in  his  big  red-leather  arm-chair,  the  color  of 
clay,  every  line  of  his  face  paralyzed,  his  mouth  drawn  and 
gaping,  full  of  saliva  and  stammering  incomprehensibly ; 
again  I  saw  the  gesture  he  made  every  little  while  to  receive 
in  his  handkerchief  that  inexhaustible  saliva  that  ran  down 
the  corners  of  his  mouth ;  again  I  saw  the  blond,  thin,  and 
sorrowful  face  of  the  sister  adjusting  a  napkin  beneath  the 
invalid's  chin  as  on  a  baby,  and  introducing  into  his 
stomach,  with  the  pharyngeal  sound,  the  nourishment  he 
was  no  longer  capable  of  swallowing. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  I  thought.  "  If  I  had  fought  a 
duel  with  so  celebrated  an  adversary,  if  I  had  wounded  him 


2l8  THE   INTRUDER. 

seriously,  if  I  had  killed  him,  the  fact  would  certainly  not 
pass  unnoticed ;  it  would  be  in  every  mouth,  it  would  get 
into  the  papers,  and  perhaps  the  true  cause  of  the  duel 
would  also  be  found  out.  This  providential  malady,  on  the 
contrary,  spares  me  all  danger,  all  annoyance,  all  gos- 
sip. I  may  well  renounce  a  sanguinary  joy,  a  punishment 
inflicted  by  my  own  hand  (and,  besides,  am  I  sure  of  the 
result  ?),  since  I  know  that  disease  paralyzes  and  saps  the 
power  of  the  man  I  detest.  But  is  the  news  true  ?  Per- 
haps it  is  only  a  temporary  illness?"  A  happy  idea 
struck  me.  I  jumped  into  a  cab  and  drove  to  the  office 
of  his  publisher.  During  the  drive  I  mentally  pictured 
to  myself — with  a  sincere  wish  that  he  might  be  stricken  by 
them — the  two  cerebral  diseases  most  terrible  for  a  man  of 
letters,  for  an  artist  in  language,  for  a  stylist,  aphasia  and 
agraphia.  And  an  imaginary  vision  presented  their  symp- 
toms to  me. 

I  entered  the  office.  At  first  I  could  distinguish  nothing, 
my  eyes  still  blinded  by  the  outer  light.  But  I  heard  a 
nasal  voice  questioning  me  in  a  strange  tone  : 

"  What  can  I  do  for  signer  ?  " 

I  perceived  behind  the  desk  a  person  of  uncertain  age,  a 
dry,  pallid,  fair  man,  a  sort  of  an  albino.  I  turned  toward 
him,  mentioned  the  titles  of  several  works.  I  bought  a  few, 
then  I  inquired  for  the  last  novel  by  Filippo  Arborio. 
The  albino  handed  me  The  Secret.  I  feigned  to  be  a 
fanatical  admirer  of  the  novelist. 

"  Is  this  really  his  last  ?  " 

!<Yes,  signor.  A  month  or  two  ago,  we  announced  a 
new  novel  by  him  :  Turris  Eburnea" 

"  Turris  Eburnea  /  " 

My  heart  throbbed. 

"  But  I  do  not  think  we  can  publish  it." 


THE   INTRUDER.  219 

"Why  not?" 

"  The  author  is  very  ill." 

"  111  ?     What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  A  progressive  paralysis  of  the  medulla  oblongata," 
replied  the  albino,  separating  the  terrible  words,  with  a 
certain  scientific  affectation. 

"  Oh  !  The  same  illness  that  Spinelli  had  !  So  it  is 
serious  ?  " 

"  Very  serious,"  said  the  albino  sententiously.  "  Signer 
knows  that  there  is  no  cure  for  that  form  of  paralysis." 

"  But  it  is  still  only  in  its  earliest  stage  ?  " 

"  Yes;  but  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  its  nature.  The  last 
time  he  came  here  I  could  already  detect  that  he  had 
difficulty  in  articulating  certain  words." 

'  'Ah!  you  heard  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  signor.  His  pronunciation  was  already  indefinite, 
and  vacillating." 

I  encouraged  the  albino  by  the  extreme  and,  so  to  speak, 
admiring  attention  that  I  paid  to  him.  I  believe  that  he 
would  voluntarily  have  acquainted  me  with  the  words  that 
had  been  pronounced  with  such  difficulty  by  the  illustrious 
novelist. 

"  And  where  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  He  is  at  Naples.  The  doctors  are  treating  him  with 
electricity." 

"Electric  treatment!"  I  repeated  with  artless  stupor, 
an  affectation  of  ignorance,  so  as  to  please  the  albino's 
vanity  and  thus  prolong  the  conversation. 

It  is  true  that  in  the  shop,  narrow  and  long  like  a  cor- 
ridor, there  flowed  a  draught  of  cool  air  that  favored  chat- 
ting. The  place  was  shaded.  A  clerk  slept  peacefully  in  a 
chair,  his  chin  on  his  bosom,  in  the  shadow  of  a  terrestrial 
globe.  Nobody  entered. 


220  THE   INTRUDER. 

There  was  something  ridiculous  about  the  bookseller.  His 
sallow  face,  his  shrivelled  mouth,  and  nasal  twang  amused 
me,  and  in  the  quiet  of  the  bookshop  it  was  very  agreeable 
to  hear  the  confirmation  of  the  incurable  malady  of  a  man 
abhorred. 

"  Have  the  doctors  no  hope  of  curing  him  ?  "  I  said,  to 
stimulate  the  albino. 

"  Impossible." 

"  Let  us  hope  it  is  possible,  for  the  sake  of  literature." 

"Impossible." 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  that,  in  progressive  paralysis,  there 
are  cases  that  have  been  cured." 

"  No,  signer,  no.  He  may  live  two,  three,  four  years 
yet,  but  he  cannot  be  cured." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  however " 

I  do  not  know  from  whence  came  this  lightness  of  heart 
that  made  me  make  sport  of  the  narrator  of  this  news, 
this  curious  complaisance  to  relish  the  cruelty  of  my  sen- 
timent. But  I  certainly  found  pleasure  in  it.  And  the 
albino,  piqued  by  my  contradictions,  climbed,  without 
further  argument,  up  a  small  wooden  ladder  leaning  against 
the  high  shelves.  Thin  as  he  was,  he  resembled  one  of 
those  vagabond  cats,  fleshless  and  hairless,  that  crouch  on 
the  edge  of  a  roof.  As  he  reached  the  top,  his  head 
brushed  against  a  cord  stretched  from  one  corner  of  the 
shop  to  the  other,  and  which  served  as  a  resting  place  for 
flies.  A  cloud  of  the  insects  swarmed  around  his  head  with 
a  furious  buzzing.  He  came  down,  holding  a  book  in  his 
hand — the  authority  which  declared  in  favor  of  death. 
The  implacable  flies  descended  with  him. 

He  showed  me  the  title.  It  was  a  special  work  on 
pathology. 

"  Signer  will  see." 


THE   INTRUDER.  221 

He  turned  over  the  leaves.  As  the  book  was  not  cut,  he 
separated  the  leaves  with  his  finger,  and,  lowering  his 
whitish  eyes,  read  inside:  "  The  prognosis  of  progressive 
bulbar  paralysis  is  unfavorable. ' '  He  added  : 

"  Is  signor  convinced  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  what  a  misfortune  !     Such  a  talented  man  !  " 

The  flies  could  not  be  quieted.  They  were  buzzing  in  a 
provoking  manner.  They  attacked  the  albino,  me,  and 
the  assistant  who  was  sleeping  under  the  terrestrial  globe. 

"  How  old  was  he?"  I  asked,  involuntarily  erring  about 
the  tense  of  the  verb,  as  if  I  referred  to  a  dead  man. 

"Who,  signor?" 

"  Filippo  Arborio." 

"  Thirty-five,  I  believe." 

"  So  young!" 

I  felt  a  strange  desire  to  laugh,  a  puerile  desire  to  laugh 
in  the  albino's  face,  and  to  leave  him.  It  was  a  very 
singular  excitation,  rather  convulsive,  never  before  felt, 
indefinable.  My  mind  was  shaken  by  something  similar 
to  the  strange  and  uncontrollable  hilarity  that  seizes  one 
at  times  in  the  surprising  incoherences  of  a  dream. 
The  book  was  still  open  and  lay  on  the  bench,  and  I  bent 
over  it  to  examine  a  vignette  that  represented  a  human  face 
contorted  by  a  grimace,  atrocious  and  grotesque:  " Hemi- 
atrophy  of  the  left  face."  The  implacable  flies  still  buzzed 
ceaselessly. 

"  Have  you  not  received  the  manuscript  of  Turris  Eburnea 
yet  ?"  I  asked. 

"No,  signor.  We  have  announced  the  book;  but  the 
title  is  all  that  exists." 

"Only  the  title  ?" 

"  Yes,  signor.  And,  in  fact,  we  have  stopped  announ- 
cing the  book." 


222  THE   INTRUDER. 

"  Thank  you.  Please  send  these  books  to  my  house 
sometime  to-day." 

I  gave  my  address  and  left. 

On  the  pavement,  I  felt  a  strange  sensation  of  bewilder- 
ment. It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  left  behind  me  a  fragment 
of  an  artificial,  false,  factitious  life.  What  I  had  done, 
what  I  had  said,  what  I  had  felt,  and  the  albino's  face,  his 
voice,  his  gestures,  all  seemed  unreal,  took  on  the  appear- 
ance of  a  dream,  the  character  of  an  impression,  received, 
not  from  contact  with  the  reality,  but  from  a  book  recently 
read.  I  entered  the  cab  again  and  returned  home.  The 
vague  sensation  faded  away.  I  began  to  calmly  reflect. 
I  assured  myself  that  all  was  real,  indisputable.  Sponta- 
neously visions  of  the  sick  man  formed  before  me,  copied 
on  those  furnished  me  by  my  recollections  of  poor  Spi- 
nel li.  And  I  was  seized  by  new  curiosity.  "  Suppose  I  go 
to  Naples  to  see  him  ?  "  I  pictured  to  myself  the  pitiful 
spectacle  of  that  intellectual  man,  degraded  by  disease, 
stammering  like  an  idiot.  I  no  longer  felt  any  joy ;  all 
the  exaltation  of  my  hate  had  fallen ;  a  profound  sadness 
overwhelmed  me.  In  fact,  the  ruin  of  this  man  had  no 
influence  on  my  own  position,  did  not  repair  my  own  ruin. 
There  was  nothing  changed,  neither  in  me,  nor  in  my  actual 
situation,  nor  in  my  previsions  of  the  future. 

And  I  thought  of  the  title  of  the  book  announced  by 
Filippo  Arborio  :  Turris  Eburnea.  Doubts  pressed  in  a 
crowd  in  my  mind.  Did  that  dedication  refer  to  an  acci- 
dental encounter  ?  Or  rather,  on  the  contraiy,  had  the 
writer  had  the  intention  of  creating  a  literary  type  after 
the  image  of  Juliana  Hermil,  of  relating  his  recent  and 
personal  adventure  ?  The  torturing  problem  presented 
itself  anew.  What  had  been  the  progressive  incidents  of 
this  adventure,  from  the  beginning  to  its  close  ? 


THE    INTRUDER.  223 

And  I  thought  I  could  hear  the  words  uttered  by  Juliana 
that  unforgettable  night :  "  I  love  you,  I  have  always  loved 
you,  I  have  always  been  yours ;  I  expiate  by  this  hell  one 
moment's  weakness,  you  understand  ?  One  moment's  weak- 
ness. It  is  the  truth.  Do  you  not  feel  that  it  is  the 
truth?" 

Alas  !  how  often  we  believe  we  feel  the  truth  in  a  voice 
that  lies.  Nothing  can  guard  us  from  being  thus  duped. 
But  if  what  I  had  felt  in  Juliana's  voice  was  the  pure  truth, 
then,  had  she  really  been  taken  during  a  physical  languor, 
in  my  very  house  ?  Had  she  submitted  with  a  sort  of  un- 
consciousness ?  And,  on  awakening,  had  she  felt  only  hor- 
ror and  disgust  at  the  irreparable  act,  and  had  she  banished 
that  man,  had  she  never  seen  him  again  ? 

This  supposition,  in  fact,  was  in  nowise  contradicted  by 
appearances ;  and  appearances  even  supported  the  supposi- 
tion that,  for  a  long  time,  the  rupture  between  Juliana  and 
him  was  complete  and  definite. 

11  In  my  own  house  !  "  I  repeated.  And,  in  this  house, 
silent  as  a  tomb,  in  these  deserted  and  close  rooms,  I  was 
followed  by  the  obsession  of  the  vision. 


XXV. 

WHAT  should  I  do  ?  Stay  longer  in  Rome  until  mad- 
ness seized  my  brain,  in  the  midst  of  this  furnace,  during 
the  heat  of  the  dog-days  ?  Go  to  the  seaside,  to  the  moun- 
tains, seek  oblivion  in  society,  at  the  fashionable  summer 
resorts  ?  Reawaken  in  myself  the  old-time  voluptuousness, 
go  in  quest  of  another  Teresa  Raffo,  any  sort  of  frivolity? 

Two  or  three  times  I  dwelt  on  the  remembrance  of  the 
Biondissima,  although  she  had  entirely  passed  from  my 
heart,  and  even,  for  a  long  time,  from  my  memory. 
"  Where  could  she  be  ?  Is  she  still  with  Eugenic  Egano  ? 
What  would  be  my  sensations  on  seeing  her  again  ?"  It 
was  only  vain  curiosity.  I  perceived  that  my  sole,  pro- 
found, unconquerable  desire  was  to  go  back  there,  to  my 
house  of  sorrow,  to  my  torture. 

I  took  the  necessary  measures  with  the  greatest  care.  I 
paid  a  visit  to  Dr.  Vebesti,  and  wired  to  the  Badiola  that 
I  was  on  the  way  home. 

Impatience  devoured  me ;  acute  anxiety  urged  me  on,  as 
if  I  were  to  encounter  new  and  extraordinary  things.  The 
journey  appeared  interminable.  Stretched  on  the  cushions, 
oppressed  by  the  heat,  suffocated  by  the  dust  that  pene- 
trated through  the  interstices  of  the  railway  carriage,  I 
thought  of  the  approaching  events,  I  considered  the  future 
possibilities,  I  essayed  to  read  the  great  darkness.  The 
father  was  mortally  tainted-  What  could  be  expected  of 
the  son  ? 


XXVI. 

THERE  was  nothing  new  at  the  Badiola.  My  absence 
had  been  very  short.  They  celebrated  my  return.  Juli- 
ana's first  look  expressed  infinite  gratitude. 

"You  have  done  well  to  return  so  quickly,"  said  my 
mother  with  a  smile.  "  Juliana  could  not  get  any  rest. 
Now,  we  hope  you  will  not  leave  us  again.  Apropos,  did 
you  think  of  that  lace?  No?  What  a  memory  you  have  !  " 

As  soon  as  I  was  alone  with  Juliana,  she  said : 

"I  did  not  dare  hope  you  would  return  so  quickly.  How 
grateful  I  am  ! ' ' 

In  her  attitude,  in  her  voice,  there  were  timidity,  humil- 
ity, tenderness.  Never  had  I  been  so  struck  by  the  con- 
trast between  her  face  and  the  rest  of  her  person.  On  that 
face  there  was,  continually  visible  to  me,  a  special  expres- 
sion of  sorrow  that  expressed  the  constant  revolt  of  this 
woman  against  the  shame  that  had  fallen  upon  her.  That 
expression  never  left  her  under  any  circumstance ;  it  could 
be  visibly  seen  through  the  diversity  of  other  fugitive 
expressions  which,  no  matter  how  strong,  could  not  efface 
it;  it  was  fixed  and  adherent,  and  it  moved  me  to  pity,  and 
took  from  me  my  anger. 

"  What  did  you  do  while  I  was  away  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  Waited  for  you.     And  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  wanted  to  return." 

"  To  see  me  ?  "  she  asked,  timid  and  humble. 

"  Yes,  for  your  sake." 
15 


226  THE    INTRUDER. 

She  half-closed  her  eyes,  and  the  light  of  a  smile  trem- 
bled on  her  face.  I  felt  that  I  had  never  been  loved  as  at 
that  instant. 

After  a  pause,  she  said,  regarding  me  with  humid  eyes : 

"Thank  you." 

The  tone,  the  sentiment  expressed,  recalled  to  me 
another  "thank  you"  that  she  had  said  at  another  time, 
the  morning  of  her  convalescence,  the  morning  of  my  first 
crime. 


XXVII. 

THUS  I  recommenced  at  the  Badiola  my  invariably  sad 
life,  unrelieved  by  any  notable  incident,  the  hours  dragging 
along  on  the  sun-dial,  and  the  feeling  of  desolation  aggra- 
vated by  the  heavy  monotony  of  the  chirp  of  the  crickets  in 
the  elms.  Nora  est  benefaciendi  ! 

And,  in  my  mind,  there  alternated  the  usual  efferves- 
cences, the  usual  inertias,  sarcasms,  the  usual  vain  aspira- 
tions, contradictory  crises,  abundance  and  dryness.  And, 
more  than  once,  reflecting  on  that  gray,  neutral,  ordinary 
fluid,  and  omnipotent  thing  called  life,  I  thought :  "  Who 
knows  ?  Man  is,  above  all,  an  animal  who  adapts  himself. 
There  is  neither  turpitude  nor  pain  to  which,  in  the  end, 
he  does  not  accustom  himself.  Perhaps  in  the  long  run  I 
shall  also  become  used  to  it.  Who  knows  ?  " 

I  sterilized  myself  by  dint  of  irony.  "  Who  knows  if 
Filippo  Arborio's  son  will  not  be,  so  to  say,  my  very  picture. 
Then  the  arrangement  would  only  be  easier."  I  thought  of 
the  cynical  laugh  that  had  been  provoked  in  me  one  day 
when,  in  the  presence  of  a  married  couple,  I  had  heard 
them  refer  to  a  baby  who,  I  knew  for  a  certainty,  was  the 
fruit  of  adultery,  as,  "  It's  just  like  his  father  !  "  And  in 
reality  the  resemblance  was  striking,  from  the  influence  of 
that  mysterious  law  known  to  physiologists  as  "  heredity  by 
influence"  Often  a  woman  married  a  second  time,  brings 
into  the  world,  some  years  after  the  death  of  her  first  hus- 
band, sons  who  have  every  feature  of  the  dead  husband,  and 
who  do  not  resemble  at  all  their  real  father. 


228  THE    INTRUDER. 

"It  is  possible,  therefore,  that  Raymond  resemble  me, 
and  appear  to  be  a  veritable  Hermil,"  I  thought.  "It 
might  happen  that  I  am  warmly  congratulated  upon  having 
so  vigorously  impressed  upon  the  heir  the  seal  of  my  race  ! 
And  suppose  my  mother's  and  brother's  expectations  are  not 
fulfilled?  Suppose  Juliana  gives  birth  to  a  third  daughter?  " 

That  probability  calmed  me.  It  seemed  to  me  I  should 
feel  less  repulsion  for  a  new  daughter,  and  that,  perhaps, 
I  might  even  succeed  in  tolerating  her.  With  time  she 
would  leave  my  house,  take  another  name,  enter  another 
family. 

Meantime,  the  nearer  the  term  approached,  the  more  my 
irritation  increased.  I  was  weary  of  constantly  debating 
with  myself  in  the  same  fruitless  agitation,  amidst  the  same 
fears  and  perplexities.  I  should  have  liked  events  to  be 
precipitated,  a  catastrophe  of  some  sort  to  occur.  No 
matter  what  catastrophe  was  preferable  to  this  agony. 

One  day  my  brother  asked  Juliana  : 

"  How  long  will  it  be  yet  ?  " 

She  answered : 

"Another  month." 

We  were  in  September.  Summer  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
We  were  approaching  the  autumnal  equinox,  the  most 
charming  period  of  the  year,  the  season  that  bears  in  itself 
a  sort  of  aerial  intoxication  emanating  from  the  ripe 
grapes.  The  enchantment  gradually  penetrated  me,  soothed 
my  soul,  at  times  inspired  in  me  a  desire  for  furious  ten- 
dernesses or  delicate  expansions.  Maria  and  Natalia  passed 
long  hours  with  me,  alone  with  me,  either  in  my  apart- 
ment or  out  in  the  surrounding  country.  I  had  never  loved 
them  before  with  a  love  so  deep,  so  anxious.  From  their 
eyes,  softly  impregnated  with  scarcely  conscious  thoughts, 
there  at  times  descended  on  my  soul  a  ray  of  peace. 


XXVIII. 

ONE  day  I  was  seeking  Juliana  throughout  the  Badiola. 
It  was  in  the  early  afternoon.  As  I  found  her  neither  in 
her  room  nor  anywhere  else,  I  entered  my  mother's  room. 
The  doors  were  open ;  neither  sound  nor  voice  was  heard ; 
the  light  curtains  waved  at  the  windows ;  through  the  open 
bay- windows  were  glimpses  of  the  verdure  of  the  elms. 
Between  the  brightly  colored  walls  all  breathed  of  peace 
and  repose. 

I  advanced  cautiously  toward  the  sanctuary.  I  walked 
softly,  in  order  not  to  disturb  my  mother,  in  case  she  were 
dozing.  I  parted  the  curtains,  and,  without  crossing  the 
threshold,  I  leaned  fonvard  and  looked  in.  I  heard, 
in  fact,  the  breathing  of  a  person  sleeping;  I  saw  my 
mother,  who  was  sleeping  in  an  arm-chair  in  a  corner  of  the 
window ;  I  saw  Juliana's  hair  above  the  back  of  another 
arm-chair.  I  entered. 

They  were  seated  facing  each  other,  and  between  them 
was  a  low  table  bearing  a  basket  full  of  miniature  bonnets. 
My  mother  still  held  between  her  fingers  one  of  these 
caps  in  which  glittered  a  needle.  Slumber  had  overtaken 
her  during  the  activity  of  her  work.  She  was  sleeping, 
her  chin  on  her  bosom ;  perhaps  she  was  dreaming.  The 
needle  was  only  half-full  of  white  cotton ;  but,  in  her  dream, 
perhaps  she  was  sewing  with  a  more  precious  thread. 

Juliana  was  sleeping  also ;  but  her  head  had  fallen  back 
pn  the  chair,  and  her  arms  were  stretched  out  on  the  sup- 


230  THE    INTRUDER. 

ports.  In  the  gentleness  of  her  slumber  her  features  were 
relaxed ;  but  her  mouth  retained  a  line  of  distress,  a  shadow 
of  affliction;  half  closed,  it  permitted  a  glimpse  of  her 
bloodless  gums ;  but  at  the  beginning  of  the  nose,  between 
the  eyebrows,  there  was  a  small  furrow,  deepened  by  great 
sorrow.  And  her  forehead  was  moist;  a  drop  of  perspira- 
tion slowly  rolled  down  her  temple.  And  her  hands,  whiter 
than  the  muslin  from  under  which  they  extended,  seemed, 
by  their  position  alone,  to  indicate  an  immense  lassitude. 
What  struck  me  most  was  less  her  moral  expression  than  the 
appearance  of  her  person.  I  meditated  without  consider- 
ing this  expression,  and  even  Juliana  herself  had  no  part  in 
my  thoughts  ;  and,  anew,  I  felt  only  the  little  creature  living 
beside  me,  as  if,  at  that  moment,  no  other  creature  existed 
around  me.  And,  again,  this  was  not  an  illusory  sensation, 
but  a  real  and  profound  one.  Fear  ran  through  every  fibre 
of  my  being. 

I  averted  my  eyes ;  and  I  again  saw  between  her  fingers 
the  bonnet  in  which  glittered  the  needle,  I  again  saw  all 
those  light  laces  in  the  basket,  all  those  rose-colored  and 
blue  ribbons  that  trembled  at  the  breath  of  the  breeze; 
My  heart  was  so  strongly  oppressed  that  I  thought  I  should 
faint.  What  tendernesses  the  hands  of  my  mother,  lost  in 
her  dream,  revealed,  those  hands  placed  on  the  pretty,  white 
thing  destined  to  cover  the  head  of  the  child  who  was  not 
my  own ! 

I  remained  there  several  minutes.  This  place  was  the 
true  sanctuary  of  the  house,  the  Holy  of  Holies.  On  one 
wall  hung  my  father's  portrait,  whom  Federico  greatly 
resembled ;  on  another  that  of  Constance,  who  resembled 
Maria  a  little.  The  two  faces,  living  in  that  superior 
existence  in  which  the  recollections  of  those  who  have 
loved  them  have  placed  them,  had  magnetic  eyes,  eyes 


THE    INTRUDER.  231 

that  seemed  to  see  everywhere.  Other  relics  of  the  two 
dead  loved  ones  sanctified  this  retreat.  In  one  corner,  on 
a  pedestal,  closed  in  between  plates  of  glass  and  covered 
with  black  crape,  there  was  the  death  mask  moulded  on  the 
corpse  of  the  man  whom  my  mother  had  loved  with  a  pas- 
sion stronger  than  death.  And  yet  this  room  had  nothing 
lugubrious  about  it.  There  reigned  in  it  a  sovereign  peace, 
that,  from  thence,  seemed  to  propagate  through  the  entire 
house,  as  life  propagates  from  the  heart,  by  a  rhythmic 
expansion. 


XXIX. 

I  RECALL  the  walk  I  made  to  the  Lilacs,  with  Maria, 
Natalia,  and  Miss  Edith,  on  a  rather  misty  morning.  And 
the  recollection  of  it  is  also  rather  misty,  veiled,  indistinct, 
like  that  of  a  long  dream,  torturing  yet  sweet. 

The  garden  no  longer  had  its  myriad  of  bluish  grapes, 
nor  its  exquisite  forest  of  flowers,  nor  its  triple  perfume, 
harmonious  as  music,  nor  its  gayety,  nor  the  continuous 
cries  of  its  swallows.  It  was  enlivened  only  by  the  voices 
and  gambols  of  the  two  innocent  girls.  Already  many  of 
the  swallows  had  departed,  and  the  rest  were  about  to  go. 
We  had  arrived  in  time  to  see  the  last  flock. 

All  the  nests  were  abandoned,  deserted,  lifeless.  Many 
were  broken,  and  on  the  clayey  debris  trembled  poor  little 
feathers.  The  last  flock,  gathered  on  the  roof,  in  the 
gutters,  were  still  waiting  for  a  few  dispersed  companions. 
The  emigrants  stood  on  a  row  on  the  edge  of  the  eaves- 
board,  some  presenting  the  beak  and  others  the  back,  so 
that  the  little  forked  tails  and  the  white  breasts  alternated. 
And  while  waiting,  they  filled  the  silent  air  with  their  calls. 
And,  from  minute  to  minute,  by  twos,  by  threes,  the  lag- 
gards arrived.  The  hour  of  departure  was  at  hand.  The 
calls  ceased.  The  fading  sunlight  fell  on  the  closed  house, 
on  the  empty  nests.  Nothing  could  be  sadder  than  those 
poor  little  dead  feathers  which,  here  and  there,  fluttered, 
held  prisoners  in  the  clay. 

As  if  raised  up  by  a  sudden  gust  of  wind,  by  a  storm, 


THE    INTRUDER.  233 

the  flock  rose  up  with  a  great  fluttering  of  wings,  ascended 
into  the  air  like  a  water-spout,  remained  for  a  moment 
directly  above  the  house;  then,  without  hesitation,  as  if 
they  had  before  them  a  clearly  traced  path,  they  took  their 
way  in  a  compact  mass,  flew  off,  melted  away  in  the  sky, 
and  finally  disappeared. 

Maria  and  Natalia,  mounted  on  a  bench,  stood  up  on 
tiptoe  to  watch  the  fugitives  as  long  as  possible,  and, 
stretching  out  their  arms,  they  cried  : 

"  Good-by,  good-by,  good-by,  little  swallows  !  " 

Of  all  the  rest  I  retain  only  an  indistinct  recollection, 
like  that  of  a  dream. 

Maria  wished  to  enter  the  house.  I  opened  the  door 
myself.  It  was  here,  on  these  three  steps,  that  Juliana  had 
followed  me,  furtively,  light  as  a  shadow,  and  had  embraced 
me,  and  had  whispered  :  "Go  in,  go  in  !  "  In  the  vesti- 
bule, the  nest  still  hung  among  the  grotesques  of  the  ceil- 
ing. "Now  I  am  yours,  altogether,  entirely!"  she  had 
murmured,  without  releasing  my  neck;  and  by  a  sinuous 
movement  she  had  thrown  herself  on  my  breast  and  had 
met  my  mouth.  The  vestibule  was  silent — the  staircases 
were  silent ;  silence  reigned  throughout  the  house.  It  was 
here  that  I  had  heard  the  low  and  distant  hum,  like  that 
retained  by  certain  shells  in  the  depths  of  their  folds.  But 
now,  the  silence  resembled  that  of  a  tomb.  And  this  place 
was  the  sepulchre  of  my  happiness. 

Maria  and  Natalia  prattled  on  without  cease,  did  not 
stop  asking  me  questions,  showed  themselves  curious  about 
everything,  went  and  opened  the  drawers  of  the  dressing- 
table,  the  closets.  Miss  Edith  followed  them,  watchful. 

"  Look,  see  what  I  have  found,"  cried  Maria,  running 
toward  me. 

At  the  bottom  of  a  drawer  she  had  found  a  bouquet  of 


234  THE    INTRUDER. 

lavender  and  a  glove.  It  was  one  of  Juliana's  gloves, 
spotted  with  black  at  the  finger-tips  ;  on  the  inside,  near  the 
hem,  it  bore  the  following  still  visible  inscription :  "  The 
Mulberries,  January  27,  1880.  Souvenir  !  ' '  Like  a  flash, 
my  memory  represented  clearly  to  me  the  episode  of  the 
mulberries,  one  of  the  happiest  episodes  of  our  first  felicity, 
a  fragment  of  the  idyll. 

"  Is  it  one  of  mamma's  gloves  ?  "  asked  Maria.  "  Give 
it  to  me,  give  it  to  me.  I  want  to  take  it  to  her  myself." 

Of  all  the  rest  I  have  but  an  indistinct  recollection, 
like  a  dream. 

Calisto,  the  old  care-taker,  came  to  speak  to  me.  He 
told  me  a  thousand  things,  and  I  understood  almost 
nothing  of  what  he  said.  Several  times  he  repeated  the 
wish : 

"  A  boy,  a  fine  boy,  and  may  God  bless  him  !  A  fine 
boy!" 

When  we  were  outside,  Calisto  closed  the  doors. 

"  And  those  nests,  those  happy  nests  ?  "  he  said,  shaking 
his  handsome  white  head. 

"  They  must  not  be  touched,  Calisto." 

Every  nest  was  deserted,  empty,  lifeless.  Their  last  hab- 
itants had  left  them.  A  languorous  kiss  from  the  setting 
sun  touched  the  closed  house,  the  solitary  nests,  and  there 
could  be  nothing  sadder  than  those  poor  little  dead 
feathers  that,  here  and  there,  trembled,  prisoners  in  the 
clay. 


XXX. 

THE  term  approached.  The  first  half  of  October  had 
passed.  Doctor  Vebesti  had  been  notified. 

My  anxiety  increased  hourly,  became  intolerable.  I  was 
frequently  assailed  by  attacks  of  madness  similar  to  that 
which  had  seized  me  on  the  banks  of  the  Assoro.  I  fled 
far  from  the  Badiola,  remained  long  hours  on  horseback,  I 
compelled  Orlando  to  jump  hedges  and  trenches,  I  forced 
him  into  perilous  paths  at  a  gallop.  Then  the  poor  animal 
and  I  returned,  streaming,  tired,  but  always  safely. 

Doctor  Vebesti  arrived.  Everybody  at  the  Badiola 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  Confidence  and  hope  reappeared. 
Juliana  alone  was  unnerved,  and  more  than  once  I  detected 
in  her  eyes  the  passage  of  a  sinister  thought,  the  sombre 
light  of  a  fixed  idea,  the  horror  of  a  lugubrious  presenti- 
ment. 

The  pains  of  childbirth  began;  they  lasted  an  entire 
day,  with  a  few  periods  of  suspension,  at  times  stronger, 
sometimes  weaker,  at  times  bearable,  and  sometimes  ago- 
nizing. She  remained  standing,  leaning  on  a  table,  her 
back  against  a  closet,  clenching  her  teeth  so  as  not  to  cry 
out ;  or  else  she  sat  in  an  arm-chair  and  remained  in  it, 
almost  motionless,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  uttering 
at  times  a  suppressed  groan ;  or  else  she  ceaselessly 
changed  her  place,  going  from  one  corner  to  another,  stop- 
ping here  and  there  to  convulsively  twist  between  her 
fingers  the  first  object  at  hand.  The  sight  of  her  suffering 


236  THE    INTRUDER. 

tortured  me.  I  could  not  stand  it.  I  left  the  room,  went 
out  for  a  few  minutes ;  then  I  returned,  almost  in  spite  of 
myself,  as  if  drawn  by  a  magnetic  attraction ;  and  I  forced 
myself  to  watch  her  suffering,  without  power  to  speak  one 
comforting  word  to  her. 

"  Tullio,  Tullio  !  What  a  horrible  thing  !  Oh  !  what 
a  horrible  thing.  I  have  never  suffered  so  much,  never, 
never  ! ' ' 

Night  fell.  My  mother,  Miss  Edith,  and  the  doctor  had 
gone  down  to  the  dining-room.  Juliana  and  I  were  alone. 
The  lamps  had  not  yet  been  brought  in.  October's  purplish 
twilight  entered  the  room;  from  time  to  time  the  wind 
shook  the  windows. 

"  Help  me,  Tullio,  help  me  !  "  she  cried,  in  the  bewil- 
derment of  the  spasm,  her  arms  stretched  toward  me,  look- 
ing at  me  with  dilated  eyes,  whose  whites  were  of  an  extra- 
ordinary whiteness  in  the  darkness  that  made  her  face  livid. 

"Tell  me,  tell  me,  what  can  I  do  to  help  you?"  I 
stammered,  distracted,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  caressing 
the  hair  on  her  temples  with  a  gesture  in  which  I  would 
have  liked  to  impart  a  supernatural  power.  "  Tell  me, 
tell  me,  what  shall  I  do?" 

She  stopped  complaining;  she  looked  at  me,  listened  to 
me,  as  if  forgetful  of  her  pain,  as  if  seized  by  surprise, 
stupefied,  no  doubt,  by  the  sound  of  my  voice,  by  the 
expression  of  my  bewilderment  and  anguish,  by  the  trem- 
bling of  my  fingers  on  her  hair,  by  the  distressed  tenderness 
of  that  inefficacious  gesture. 

"You  love  me,  don't  you  ?"  she  said,  without  ceasing 
to  look  at  me,  as  if  not  to  lose  the  slightest  sign  of  my 
emotion.  "  You  forgive  everything  ?  " 

And,  becoming  exalted  again,  she  cried: 

"  You  must  love  me  !     You  must  love  me  very  much  now, 


THE   INTRUDER.  237 

because  to-morrow  I  shall  not  be  here,  because  I  shall  die 
to-night;  to-night,  perhaps,  I  shall  be  dead.  And  you 
would  be  sorry  for  not  having  loved  me,  for  not  having 
pardoned  me.  Oh  !  yes,  you  would  be  sorry." 

She  seemed  so  sure  of  dying  that  a  sudden  terror  froze 
me. 

"  You  must  love  me  !  Perhaps  you  do  not  believe  what  I 
told  you  one  night;  perhaps  you  do  not  believe  me  yet; 
but  you  will  surely  believe  me  when  I  am  gone.  Then 
the  light  will  enter  your  soul,  then  you  will  understand  the 
truth;  and  you  will  repent  not  having  loved  me  enough, 
not  having  forgiven  me." 

Sobs  choked  her  utterance. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I'm  sorry  to  die  ?  Because  I  die 
without  your  knowing  how  much  I  have  loved  you,  how 
much  I  loved  you  after,  especially —  Oh  !  what  a  punish- 
ment !  Do  I  deserve  such  an  end  ?  ' ' 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  But  immediately  uncov- 
ered it,  and,  very  pale,  looked  at  me.  An  idea  still  more 
terrible  seemed  to  have  crushed  her. 

"Suppose  I  died,"  she  stammered;  "  and  while  dying 
gave  life ' ' 


"Hush!" 

"  You  understand- 


"  Be  silent,  Juliana  !  " 

I  was  more  affected  than  she.  Terror  had  overwhelmed 
me,  and  left  me  without  even  the  power  to  emit  a  single 
word  of  consolation,  to  combat  these  imaginations  of  death 
with  a  single  vivifying  word.  I,  too,  was  sure  of  the  atro- 
cious end.  In  the  violet  darkness  my  eyes  met  Juliana's; 
and  on  that  poor  drawn  face  I  thought  I  noticed  symptoms 
of  the  death  agony,  symptoms  of  a  dissolution  that  had 
already  begun  and  that  was  inevitable.  She  could  not 


238  THE   INTRUDER. 

repress  a  sort  of  shriek  that  resembled  nothing  human,  and 
she  clutched  my  arm  convulsively. 

"  Help  me,  Tullio,  help  me  !  " 

She  clasped  me  hard,  very  hard,  yet  not  hard  enough.  I 
should  have  liked  to  feel  her  nails  penetrate  my  flesh,  from 
a  furious  desire  for  physical  torture  that  would  put  me  in 
touch  with  her  torture.  Her  forehead  pressed  against  my 
shoulder,  she  continued  to  moan.  Its  note  was  that  which 
renders  the  voice  unrecognizable  in  the  excess  of  corporeal 
suffering,  the  note  that  brings  suffering  man  to  the  level  of 
the  suffering  beast — the  instinctive  lamentation  of  all  flesh 
in  pain,  whether  animal  or  human. 

From  time  to  time  she  recovered  her  speech  sufficiently 
to  repeat : 

"Help  me!" 

And  she  imparted  to  me  the  violent  shocks  of  her  great 
pain.  A  flood  of  hate  mounted  from  the  deepest  roots  of 
my  being,  rose  even  to  my  hands  in  a  homicidal  impulse. 
That  impulse  came  before  its  time ;  but  the  vision  of  the 
crime  already  consummated  lit  up  my  inner  consciousness 
like  a  flash.  "  You  shall  not  live  !  " 

"  Ah  !  Tullio,  Tullio  !  Suffocate  me  !  Kill  me  !  I  can- 
not stand  it,  I  cannot  stand  it,  you  hear;  no,  I  cannot  stand 
it,  I  do  not  want  to  suffer  any  longer." 

She  cried  savagely,  looking  around  her  wildly  as  if  seek- 
ing something  or  someone  from  whom  she  could  obtain  the 
aid  I  was  powerless  to  render  her. 

"Calm  yourself,  Juliana;  calm  yourself.  Perhaps  the 
time  has  come  !  Be  brave  !  Take  this  chair.  Be  brave, 
my  dear  soul  !  A  little  more  patience  !  See,  I  am  near 
you.  Do  not  be  afraid." 

I  ran  to  the  bell.  "The  doctor!  the  doctor!  Tell 
him  to  come  immediately." 


THE   INTRUDER.  239 

Juliana  ceased  her  lamentations.  All  at  once  she  seemed 
to  cease  suffering,  or  at  least  to  be  unconscious  of  her  con- 
dition, in  the  abstraction  of  other  thoughts.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  she  was  meditating  something.  I  scarcely  had 
time  to  remark  this  instantaneous  change. 

"  Listen,  Tullio.    Suppose  I  become  delirious.     .     .     ." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Suppose  later,  when  fever  sets  in,  I  become  delirious; 
suppose  I  die  raving " 

"Well  ?" 

Her  voice  had  such  accents  of  terror,  her  reticences 
were  so  sad,  that  I  began  to  tremble  like  a  leaf,  seized  by 
a  sort  of  panic,  still  without  understanding  what  she  meant. 

"Well  ?" 

"  They  will  be  all  there  ;  they  will  be  around  me.  .  .  . 
You  understand  ?  You  understand  ?  One  word  would  be 
enough.  One  never  knows  what  one  says  when  delirious. 
You  should  .  .  ." 

At  that  moment  my  mother,  the  doctor,  and  the  midwife 
arrived. 

"  Ah  !  doctor,"  sighed  Juliana,  "  I  thought  I  was  dying." 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  doctor  in  a  reassuring  voice. 
"  There  is  no  danger.  Everything  will  be  all  right." 

And  he  looked  at  me. 

"Your  husband,"  he  went  on,  smiling,  "looks  worse 
than  you  do." 

And  he  showed  me  the  door,  saying : 

"  Go  !     You  can  be  of  no  assistance  here." 

I  glanced  at  my  mother's  eyes.  She  seemed  restless, 
anxious,  compassionate. 

"  Yes,  Tullio,"  she  said.  "  It  will  be  better  for  you  to 
go.  Federico  is  downstairs  waiting  for  you." 

I  looked  at  Juliana.     Without  concerning  herself  with 


240  THE    INTRUDER. 

the  others  present,  she  fixed  on  me  her  large  eyes,  which 
were  animated  with  an  extraordinary  brilliancy.  They 
expressed  all  the  passion  of  a  despairing  soul. 

"  I  will  not  leave  the  adjoining  room,"  I  declared  reso- 
lutely, without  removing  my  gaze  from  Juliana. 

As  I  turned  to  go  out  I  noticed  the  midwife  disposing 
the  pillows  on  the  bed  of  pain,  on  the  bed  of  misery,  and 
I  shuddered  as  if  from  a  breath  of  death. 


XXXI. 

IT  was  between  four  and  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  pains  had  lasted  until  then,  with  a  few  intermissions  of 
relief.  I  was  lying  on  the  lounge  in  the  adjoining  room, 
and  about  three  o'clock  sleep  had  overcome  me  unexpect- 
edly. Cristina  awoke  me ;  she  told  me  that  Juliana  wished 
to  see  me. 

My  eyes  still  heavy  from  sleep,  I  started  to  my  feet. 

"  Was  I  asleep  ?     What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  signer.  Nothing  has  happened. 
The  pains  are  easier.  Come  and  see  her." 

I  entered,  and  my  eyes  immediately  sought  Juliana. 

She  was  supported  by  pillows,  pale  as  her  night-dress, 
almost  lifeless.  Her  eyes  at  once  met  mine,  because  they 
were  turned  toward  the  door,  in  the  expectation  of  my 
coining.  Her  eyes  appeared  larger,  deeper,  hollower,  sur- 
rounded by  a  wider,  dark  shadow. 

"You  see,"  she  said  in  an  exhausted  voice,  "  it  is  still 
the  same." 

Her  gaze  did  not  leave  me.  Her  eyes  spoke,  like  those 
of  the  Princess  Lisa:  "I  hoped  you  would  help  me;  but 
you  do  not  help  me,  either." 

"  Where  is  the  doctor  ?  "  I  asked  my  mother,  who  seemed 
sad  and  preoccupied. 

She  pointed  to  a  door.  I  opened  it,  and  passed  through. 
I  saw  the  doctor  near  a  table  busy  with  his  preparations. 

"  Well,"  I  asked  him  abruptly,  "  how  is  it  ?  " 
16 


242  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  Nothing  serious  so  far." 

"  And  all  these  preparations  ?  " 

"To  be  on  the  safe  side." 

"  But  how  long  will  it  last  ?  " 

"  It  is  nearly  over." 

"  Please  speak  frankly.  Do  you  expect  any  complica- 
tion ?" 

"  At  present  there  are  no  serious  symptoms.  Have  con- 
fidence in  me,  and  be  calm.  I  have  noticed  that  your  pres- 
ence greatly  excites  your  wife.  During  the  short  period  of 
the  final  pains,  she  needs  all  the  strength  she  has.  It  is 
absolutely  necessary  that  you  go  away.  Promise  me  to  do 
this.  You  may  return  when  I  call  you." 

A  moan  reached  us. 

"  The  pains  are  beginning  again,"  he  said.  "  The  crisis 
has  come.  So  be  calm." 

He  went  toward  the  door.  I  followed  him.  We  both 
went  up  to  Juliana.  She  seized  my  arm,  and  her  clutch 
was  like  a  bite.  Had  she  so  much  strength  left  ? 

"  Be  brave  !  be  brave  !  This  is  the  last.  All  will  be 
well.  Is  it  not  so,  doctor  ?  "  I  stammered. 

"  Yes,  yes.  There  is  no  time  to  lose.  Let  your  husband 
leave  the  room,  signora." 

She  looked  at  the  doctor  and  me  with  dilated  eyes.  She 
released  my  arm. 

"  Courage  !  "  I  repeated,  choking. 

I  kissed  her  forehead,  moist  with  perspiration,  and  turned 
to  leave. 

"  Ah  !   Tullio  !  "  she  cried,  behind  me. 

That  heart-breaking  cry  signified :  "I  shall  never  see 
you  again." 

I  made  a  movement  as  if  about  to  return  to  her. 

"  Leave  the  room  !  "  ordered  the  doctor  imperiously. 


THE    INTRUDER.  243 

I  obeyed  him.  Some  one  shut  the  door  behind  me.  I 
remained  several  minutes  outside,  listening ;  but  my  knees 
trembled;  the  beating  of  my  heart  dominated  every  other 
sound.  I  threw  myself  on  the  sofa,  put  my  handkerchief 
between  my  teeth,  buried  my  face  in  a  cushion.  I,  too, 
suffered  physical  torture,  similar  to  what  an  amputation, 
slowly  and  badly  done,  must  be. 

I  could  not  make  a  step.  Several  minutes  passed — an 
incalculable  time.  Thoughts  and  images  furrowed  my 
brain  like  sudden  flashes.  "Is  he  born  ?  Suppose  she 
is  dead  ?  Suppose  they  are  both  dead,  mother  and  child  ? 
No,  no  !  It  is  certain  that  she  is  dead  and  that  he  lives. 
But  I  hear  no  wailing.  Why  ?  I  conquered  the  terror 
that  held  me,  and  sprang  to  the  door.  I  opened  it  and 
entered. 

I  immediately  heard  the  doctor's  voice  shouting  at  me 
roughly : 

"  Do  not  come  in  !  Do  not  disturb  her  !  Do  you  want 
to  kill  her  ?" 

Juliana  looked  like  a  dead  woman.  She  was  whiter  than 
her  pillow  and  motionless.  My  mother  bent  over  her  to 
place  a  compress  in  position.  The  doctor,  calmly  and 
methodically,  was  preparing  an  internal  lotion.  His  face 
looked  anxious,  but  his  hands  did  not  tremble.  A  basin  of 
boiling  water  was  steaming  in  a  corner.  Cristina  was 
pouring  water  from  a  pitcher  into  a  second  basin,  in  which 
she  held  a  thermometer.  Another  woman  carried  into  an 
adjoining  room  a  package  of  cotton.  In  the  air  was  an 
odor  of  ammonia  and  of  vinegar. 

The  slightest  details  of  that  scene,  taken  in  at  one  glance, 
were  impressed  on  me  indelibly. 

"  Fifty  degrees,  mind,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  toward 
Cristina. 


244  THE    INTRUDER. 

As  I  heard  no  wailing  I  looked  about  me.  Some  one  was 
missing  in  the  room. 

"  Where's  the  baby  ?"  I  asked,  trembling. 

"  He's  there,  in  the  other  room,"  replied  the  doctor. 
"  Go  and  see  him,  and  stay  there." 

I  pointed  to  Juliana  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Have  no  fear.     Hand  me  the  water,  Cristina." 

I  entered  the  other  room.  My  ears  caught  a  feeble  wail, 
scarcely  perceptible.  I  saw  on  a  layer  of  cotton  a  reddish- 
looking  little  body,  violet-colored  in  spots,  and  whose  back 
and  the  soles  of  the  feet  were  being  rubbed  by  the  mid- 
wife's dry  hands. 

"  Come  here,  signer,  come  and  see  him,"  said  the  mid- 
wife, continuing  the  friction.  "  Come  and  see  what  a  fine 
boy  he  is.  He  did  not  breathe  at  first,  but  now  all 
danger  is  passed.  Look  at  the  fine  boy  !  " 

She  turned  the  baby  round,  putting  him  on  his  back. 

"Look!" 

She  raised  the  baby  and  shook  him  up  and  down.  The 
wailing  became  a  little  stronger. 

But  in  my  eyes  was  a  strange  sparkle  that  prevented  me 
from  seeing  well.  In  all  my  being  I  felt  some  strange 
obtuse  feeling,  that  removed  from  me  the  exact  perception 
of  all  these  real  and  coarse  things. 

"Look!"  repeated  the  midwife  again,  replacing  the 
wailing  child  on  the  cotton. 

He  was  crying  vigorously  now.  He  breathed,  he  lived  ! 
I  bent  over  that  little  palpitating  body.  I  stooped  to  see 
him  better,  to  examine  him,  to  recognize  the  odious  resem- 
blance. But  the  little  puffed-up  face,  still  somewhat  livid, 
with  protruding  eyeballs,  swollen  mouth,  wandering  chin — 
that  deformed  visage  had  almost  nothing  human  about  it, 
and  inspired  me  with  nothing  but  disgust. 


THE    INTRUDER.  245 

"  He  wasn't  breathing  when  he  was  born,  did  you  say  ?  " 
I  stammered. 

"  No,  signor.     A  slight  apoplexy." 

She  spoke  without  any  intermission  of  the  cares  she  was 
giving  the  infant. 

"  Julia,  give  me  the  linen." 

And,  while  swathing  the  infant,  she  added  : 

"  There  is  nothing  to  fear  on  his  account.  God  bless 
him!" 

Her  expert  hands  took  hold  of  the  little  soft  head  as 
if  to  mould  it.  The  infant's  wails  increased  in  strength. 
He  cried  louder  and  louder,  as  if  to  prove  that  he  was 
really  alive,  as  if  to  provoke  me  and  exasperate  me. 

"  He  is  living,  he  is  living.     But  the  mother  ?  " 

Abruptly  I  re-entered  the  other  room,  beside  myself. 

"Tullio!" 

It  was  Juliana's  voice,  as  feeble  as  that  of  a  dying 
woman. 


XXXII. 

THE  patient  was  now  lying  on  her  bed  in  the  alcove. 
It  was  broad  daylight. 

I  was  seated  at  her  bedside.  I  looked  at  her  silently, 
sorrowfully.  She  was  not  asleep,  but  extreme  weakness 
prevented  all  movement,  removed  all  expression  of  life, 
made  her  seem  inanimate.  I  made  an  instinctive  move- 
ment to  touch  her,  because  I  thought  she  had  become  cold 
as  ice.  But  I  was  restrained  by  the  fear  of  disturbing  her. 
More  than  once  during  my  continuous  contemplation,  be- 
neath the  shock  of  some  sudden  fear,  I  made  a  movement 
to  rise  and  fetch  the  doctor.  As  I  meditated  I  rolled 
between  my  fingers  a  little  tuft  of  cotton  which  I  carefully 
picked  apart,  and,  from  time  to  time,  impelled  by  an  in- 
vincible restlessness,  I  placed  it  with  infinite  precautions 
near  Juliana's  lips.  The  waving  of  the  threads  showed  me 
the  strength  of  her  respiration. 

She  was  stretched  on  her  back,  and  a  low  pillow  sup- 
ported her  head.  In  the  frame  formed  by  her  chestnut  hair, 
which  was  loosely  caught  up,  the  lines  of  her  face  seemed 
more  refined  than  usual ;  showed  more  perfectly  the  waxy 
tones.  Her  night-dress  was  fastened  at  the  neck  and 
tight  at  her  wrists,  and  her  hands  lay  flat  on  the  cover, 
so  white  that  they  were  only  distinguished  from  the  linen 
by  the  azure  of  their  veins.  A  supernatural  goodness 
emanated  from  this  poor  creature,  so  pallid  and  motionless 
goodness  that  penetrated  all  my  being,  that  filled  my 


THE    INTRUDER.  247 

heart.  And  one  would  have  thought  that  she  was  still 
repeating  :  "  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  "  Her  colorless 
mouth,  with  its  depressed  angles,  revealing  a  mortal  lassi- 
tude;  that  arid  mouth,  twisted  by  so  many  convulsions, 
martyrized  by  so  many  cries,  seemed  constantly  repeating : 
"  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  " 

I  examined  the  emaciation  of  her  body,  that  scarcely 
formed  a  relief  on  the  surface  of  the  bed.  Since  the  event 
had  taken  place,  since  finally  the  other  life  had  been  sepa- 
rated from  her  life  forever,  I  no  longer  felt  rise  in  me 
the  least  instinctive  movement  of  repulsion,  not  the  least 
sudden  shade  of  anger,  nothing  that  could  affect  my  ten- 
derness and  pity.  I  no  longer  felt,  on  seeing  her,  anything 
but  an  effusion  of  immense  tenderness  and  pity  for  the 
best  and  most  unfortunate  of  human  creatures.  All  my  soul 
now  hung  on  those  poor  lips  which,  from  one  moment  to 
another,  might  render  up  their  last  sigh.  As  I  looked  at 
her  pale  face  I  thought  with  profound  sincerity :  "  How 
happy  I  should  be  could  I  transfuse  half  of  my  own  blood 
into  her  veins  !  " 

I  heard  the  light  ticking  of  a  clock  placed  on  the  night- 
table;  I  felt  that  fugitive  time  was  slipping  by,  and  I 
thought:  "  He  is  alive  !  "  The  flight  of  time  caused  me 
singular  anxiety,  very  different  from  that  which  I  had  felt 
on  other  occasions — indefinable. 

I  thought :  "  He  lives,  and  has  a  tenacious  hold  on  life. 
At  the  time  of  his  birth  he  was  not  breathing.  When  I  saw 
him  he  still  had  the  signs  of  asphyxia  all  over  his  body. 
If  the  care  of  the  midwife  had  not  saved  him  he  would 
be  now  nothing  but  a  little,  livid  cadaver,  a  harmless,  neg- 
ligible, and  perhaps  forgetable  thing.  I  should  only  have 
Juliana's  cure  to  think  of,  and  I  would  not  leave  this  room 
again.  I  would  be  the  most  assiduous  and  most  gentle  of 


248  THE    INTRUDER. 

nurses.  I  would  succeed  in  realizing  the  transfusion  of  life, 
in  accomplishing  the  miracle  by  the  power  of  love.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  her  not  to  get  well.  She  would 
resuscitate  gradually,  be  regenerated  with  new  blood.  She 
would  appear  a  new  creature,  freed  from  all  impurity.  We 
would  both  feel  purified,  worthy  of  each  other,  after  so 
long  and  so  painful  an  expiation.  The  illness,  the  conva- 
lescence would  relegate  the  sad  memories  to  an  indefinite 
distance.  And  I  would  try  to  efface  from  her  soul  even  the 
shadow  of  remembrance ;  I  would  try  to  procure  for  her 
perfect  oblivion  in  love.  After  this  great  trial,  every 
other  human  love  would  seem  frivolous  by  comparison  with 
ours."  I  exalted  myself  in  the  almost  mystic  splendor  of 
this  dream  of  the  future,  whilst,  beneath  my  fixed  gaze, 
Juliana's  visage  took  on  a  sort  of  immateriality,  an  expres- 
sion of  supernatural  goodness ;  as  if  she  were  already  re- 
moved from  the  world ;  as  if  the  presence  of  death  had  left 
behind  in  her  being  only  a  pure,  spiritual  essence.  The 
mute  question  no  longer  struck  me  like  a  wound,  no  longer 
seemed  terrifying  to  me  :  "  What  have  you  done  to  me  ?  " 
I  replied  :  "  Have  you  not  become,  through  my  instrumen- 
tality, the  sister  of  Pain  ?  Has  not  suffering  elevated  your 
soul  to  a  vertiginous  height,  from  which  it  has  been  given 
you  to  see  the  world  in  an  extraordinary  light  ?  Do  you  not 
owe  to  me  the  revelation  of  the  supreme  truth  ?  What 
matters  our  errors,  our  falls,  our  sins,  if  we  have  succeeded 
in  tearing  the  veil  from  our  eyes,  if  we  have  succeeded  in 
setting  at  liberty  what  there  is  lowest  in  our  miserable  sub- 
stance ?  We  will  obtain  the  highest  joy  to  which  the  elect 
of  earth  can  aspire — the  consciousness  of  a  re-birth." 

I  became  exalted.  The  alcove  was  silent,  the  darkness 
full  of  mystery.  Juliana's  face  acquired  for  me  a  superhu- 
man aspect,  and  there  was  a  solemnity  in  my  contempla- 


THE    INTRUDER.  249 

tion,  for  I  felt  in  the  air  the  presence  of  invisible  death. 
All  my  soul  was  suspended  on  those  pallid  lips,  which, 
from  one  moment  to  another,  might  render  their  last  breath. 
And  those  lips  were  contracted,  emitted  a  groan.  The 
painful  contraction  changed  the  lines  of  the  face,  persisted 
for  several  moments.  The  wrinkles  in  the  forehead  deep- 
ened, the  skin  of  the  eyelids  trembled  lightly,  a  white  line 
appeared  between  the  lashes. 

I  bent  over  the  invalid.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and 
immediately  closed  them.  She  did  not  appear  to  see  me ; 
her  eyes  showed  no  sign  of  recognition.  One  would  have 
thought  she  was  blind.  Had  an  anemic  amaurosis  super- 
vened ?  Had  she  been  suddenly  struck  by  blindness  ? 

I  heard  some  one  enter  the  room.  God  grant  it  is 
the  doctor.  I  left  the  alcove,  and  saw  the  doctor,  my 
mother,  and  the  midwife,  who  had  entered  quietly.  Cris- 
tina  followed  them. 

"  Is  she  quiet  ?  "  inquired  the  doctor  in  a  low  voice. 

"  She's  moaning.  Who  knows  what  she  is  still  suffer- 
ing ?" 

1  '  Has  she  spoken?" 

"No." 

"  She  must  not  be  disturbed  in  the  least ;  remember  that." 

"  Just  now  she  opened  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  She  did 
not  seem  to  see  anything." 

The  doctor  entered  the  alcove,  after  having  made  a  sign 
for  us  to  remain  where  we  were.  My  mother  said  to  me  : 

"Come.  It  is  time  to  renew  the  compresses.  Come 
quickly.  Let  us  go  and  see  little  Raymond.  Federico  is 
downstairs." 

She  took  my  hand.     I  let  myself  be  led. 

"He  has  fallen  asleep,"  she  continued.  "  He  sleeps 
quietly.  The  wet-nurse  will  arrive  this  evening." 


250  THE   INTRUDER. 

However  sad  and  anxious  she  was  when  speaking  of  Juli- 
ana, she  had  a  smile  in  her  eyes  when  speaking  of  the 
infant.  Her  entire  face  was  lit  up  by  tenderness. 

By  the  doctor's  orders,  a  room  distant  from  that  occupied 
by  the  invalid  had  been  selected  for  Raymond — a  large, 
airy  room,  containing  a  thousand  souvenirs  of  our  child- 
hood. Directly  I  entered  I  saw  Federico,  Maria,  and 
Natalia  grouped  around  the  cradle  and  attentively  contem- 
plating the  little  sleeper.  Federico  turned  and  asked : 

'•'  How  is  Juliana  ?  " 

"Bad." 

"  Isn't  she  resting  ?" 

"She  is  suffering." 

In  spite  of  myself,  I  answered  almost  harshly.  A  sort  of 
aridity  had  suddenly  invaded  my  soul.  My  only  sensation 
was  an  indomitable  aversion  against  the  intruder,  an  impa- 
tience of  the  torture  which  people  inflicted  on  me  without 
knowing  it.  In  spite  of  my  efforts,  I  could  not  feint. 
Thus,  we  were  all  around  the  cradle — I,  my  mother, 
Federico,  Maria,  and  Natalia — contemplating  Raymond's 
slumber. 

He  was  bound  in  the  swaddling-clothes,  and  his  head  was 
covered  with  a  cap  trimmed  with  laces  and  ribbons.  His 
face  appeared  less  swollen,  but  still  red,  and  the  cheeks 
shone  like  the  skin  of  a  wound  recently  healed.  A  little 
saliva  rolled  from  the  corners  of  the  closed  mouth;  the 
eyelids,  without  lashes,  puffed  up  at  the  edges,  covered  the 
projecting  eyeballs;  the  root  of  the  nose,  yet  formless,  was 
marked  by  a  bruise. 

"Whom  does  he  resemble?"  said  my  mother.  "I 
cannot  find  any  resemblance." 

"  He  is  too  young,"  said  Federico.  "  We  must  wait  ^ 
few  days." 


THE    INTRUDER.  251 

Two  or  three  times  my  mother  looked  at  me  and  then 
looked  at  the  infant,  as  if  to  compare  the  faces. 

"  No,"  she  said.     "  I  think  he  resembles  Juliana  most." 

"  At  present,"  I  interrupted,  "  he  resembles  no  one.  He 
is  horrible.  " 

"  Horrible  ?  How  can  you  say  so  ?  He  is  perfectly 
beautiful.  Look  at  that  mass  of  hair." 

With  her  fingers  she  gently  raised  the  cap,  disclosing  the 
still  soft  skull,  on  which  were  seen  several  brown  hairs. 

"  Let  me  touch  them,  grandmamma,"  begged  Maria, 
stretching  out  her  hand  toward  her  brother's  head. 

"  No,  no.     Do  you  wish  to  wake  him  ?  " 

The  skull  had  the  appearance  of  wax  somewhat  softened 
by  heat,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  slightest  touch  would  leave 
a  mark  on  it.  My  mother  covered  it  again,  and  then  bent 
over  to  kiss  the  forehead  with  infinite  gentleness. 

"  Me,  too,  grandmother  !  "  begged  Maria. 

"Yes,  but  gently." 

The  cradle  was  too  high. 

"  Lift  me,"  said  Maria  to  Federico. 

Federico  raised  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  I  saw  the  beautiful 
rosy  mouth  of  my  daughter  get  ready  to  kiss  before  she  suc- 
ceeded in  touching  the  forehead.  I  saw  her  long  locks  play 
on  the  whiteness  of  the  clothes. 

Federico  looked  at  me.     But  I  did  not  smile. 

"Me,  too!     Me,  too  !" 

Natalia  now  clung  to  the  edge  of  the  cradle. 

"Gently!" 

Federico  raised  her  too.  And  again  I  saw  the  long 
locks  play  on  the  whiteness  of  the  bed  linen,  in  the  move- 
ment she  made  in  bending  over.  This  spectacle  had  petri- 
fied me,  and  my  look  certainly  expressed  my  emotion. 
These  kisses  from  lips  so  dear  to  me  had  not  removed  from 


252  THE    INTRUDER. 

the  intruder  his  repugnant  aspect  j  they  had,  on  the  con- 
trary, rendered  him  more  odious  to  me.  I  felt  it  would  be 
impossible  for  me  to  touch  that  strange  flesh,  to  make  any 
gesture  resembling  paternal  love.  My  mother  observed  me 
with  uneasiness. 

"  You  do  not  kiss  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  mother,  no.  He  has  done  too  much  harm  to  Juli- 
ana. I  cannot  forgive  him.  .  .  ." 

I  recoiled  with  an  instinctive  movement,  a  movement 
of  manifest  disgust.  My  mother  remained  for  a  moment 
stupefied,  speechless. 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Tullio  ?  Is  it  this  poor  baby's 
fault?  Be  just!" 

Assuredly  my  mother  had  remarked  the  sincerity  of  my 
aversion.  I  could  not  succeed  in  restraining  myself.  All 
my  nerves  rebelled. 

"Impossible  now!  Impossible!  Let  me  be,  mother. 
It  will  pass." 

My  tone  was  resolute.  I  trembled  all  over.  There  was 
a  lump  in  my  throat ;  the  muscles  of  my  face  contracted. 
After  so  many  hours  of  violent  tension  my  entire  being 
required  relaxation.  I  believe  that  a  great  burst  of  sobs 
would  have  done  me  good,  but  the  lump  in  my  throat  was 
too  firm. 

"  You  grieve  me  greatly,  Tullio,"  said  my  mother. 

"So  you  exact  that  I  kiss  him  ?"  I  burst  out,  beside 
myself. 

And  I  approached  the  cradle,  bent  over  the  infant  and 
kissed  him. 

The  child  awoke.  He  began  to  wail,  feebly  at  first, 
then  with  increasing  fury.  I  observed  that  the  skin  of 
his  face  took  on  a  more  reddish  tint  and  wrinkled  beneath 
the  effort,  while  his  whitish  tongue  trembled  in  his  wide- 


THE    INTRUDER.  253 

open  mouth.  Although  I  was  at  the  height  of  exasperation, 
I  recognized  the  error  committed.  I  felt  the  gaze  of  Fed- 
erico,  Maria,  and  Natalia  fixed  upon  me. 

"  Forgive  me,  mother,"  I  stammered.  "  I  no  longer  know 
what  I  am  doing;  I  am  not  in  my  right  senses.  Forgive 
me." 

She  had  taken  the  infant  from  the  cradle,  and  held  it 
in  her  arms,  without  succeeding  in  quieting  it.  The  wails 
went  through  me,  overwhelmed  me. 

"  Let  us  go  out,  Federico." 

I  left  hastily.     Federico  followed  me. 

"  Juliana  is  very  ill.  I  cannot  understand  how  any  one 
can  think  of  anything  else  but  her  now,"  I  said,  as  if  to 
justify  myself.  "  You  have  not  seen  her.  She  looks  as  if 
she  were  dying." 


XXXIII. 

FOR  several  days  Juliana  hovered  between  life  and  death. 
Her  weakness  was  so  great  that  the  slightest  effort  was  fol- 
lowed by  exhaustion.  She  was  compelled  to  remain  con- 
stantly on  her  back,  without  the  slightest  movement.  The 
least  attempt  to  raise  herself  provoked  symptoms  of  cere- 
bral anemia.  Nothing  could  be  found  to  overcome  the 
nauseas  that  seized  her,  to  lift  the  weight  that  crushed 
down  on  her  chest,  to  remove  the  buzzing  that  she  heard 
without  cease. 

I  remained  day  and  night  at  her  bedside,  always  on  the 
watch,  sustained  by  an  indefatigable  energy  that  surprised 
even  myself.  I  employed  all  the  strength  of  my  own  life 
in  sustaining  that  life  which  was  threatened  with  extinction. 
It  seemed  to  me  that,  from  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  death 
was  watching,  ready  to  profit  by  an  opportune  moment  to 
ravish  his  prey.  At  times  I  had  the  real  sensation  that  I 
was  becoming  transfused  in  the  debilitated  body  of  the 
invalid,  that  I  communicated  to  her  a  little  of  my  strength, 
that  I  imparted  an  impulse  to  her  exhausted  heart.  Never 
did  the  miseries  of  illness  inspire  in  me  the  least  repug- 
nance, the  slightest  disgust ;  never  did  any  material  object 
offend  the  delicacy  of  my  senses.  My  senses,  overexcited, 
were  attentive  only  in  perceiving  the  least  changes  in  the 
condition  of  the  invalid.  Before  she  spoke  a  word,  before 
she  made  a  sign,  I  divined  her  desires,  her  wants,  the  degree 
of  her  suffering.  By  divination,  without  the  physician  hav- 


THE    INTRUDER.  255 

ing  to  make  any  suggestion,  I  had  succeeded  in  being  able 
to  discover  new  and  ingenious  means  of  relieving  one  of  her 
pains,  of  calming  one  of  her  attacks.  I  alone  could  per- 
suade her  to  eat  and  to  sleep.  I  resorted  to  every  stratagem, 
to  prayers  and  caresses  to  make  her  swallow  her  medicine. 
I  pressed  her  so  much  that  finally,  incapable  of  further  re- 
sistance, she  had  to  submit  to  a  salutary  effort  to  triumph 
over  the  nausea.  And  there  was  nothing  sweeter  to  me 
than  the  imperceptible  smile  with  which  she  submitted 
to  my  will.  Her  slightest  acts  of  obedience  put  my  heart 
into  a  profound  commotion.  When  she  said,  in  her  feeble 
voice  :  "  Is  this  right  ?  Am  I  good  ?  "  I  felt  my  throat 
choke,  my  eyes  become  veiled. 

She  often  complained  of  a  painful  and  incessant  throb- 
bing at  the  temples.  Then  I  would  pass  my  finger-tips 
over  her  brow  to  appease  the  pain.  I  caressed  her  hair 
very  softly  to  lull  her  to  sleep.  When  I  perceived  that  she 
was  asleep  her  respiration  gave  me  the  illusory  sensation 
that  I  was  solaced,  as  if  the  benefit  of  the  slumber  were 
extended  even  to  me.  In  presence  of  this  slumber  I  felt  a 
sort  of  religious  emotion.  I  was  invaded  by  a  vague  fervor. 
I  felt  a  desire  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  some  superior 
being,  omnispective,  omnipotent,  in  order  to  address  my 
prayers  to  him.  There  arose  spontaneously  from  the  depths 
of  my  soul  the  preludes  of  prayer  according  to  the  Chris- 
tian formula.  Sometimes  the  inner  eloquence  exalted  me 
even  to  the  summit  of  the  true  faith.  Within  me  there 
awoke  all  the  mystic  tendencies  transmitted  to  me  by  a 
long  line  of  Catholic  ancestors. 

While  my  inner  orisons  were  unfolding  I  contemplated 
the  sleeper.  She  was  still  as  pale  as  her  night-dress.  The 
transparency  of  her  skin  would  have  enabled  me  to  count 
the  veins  on  her  cheeks,  on  her  chin,  on  her  neck.  I  watched 


256  THE    INTRUDER. 

her  as  if  I  had  had  the  hope  of  seeing  the  beneficial  effects 
of  that  repose,  the  slow  diffusion  of  new  blood  engendered 
by  the  nourishment,  the  first  premonitory  signs  of  cure. 
I  would  have  liked,  by  some  supernatural  faculty,  to  be 
present  at  the  mysterious  restorative  elaboration  which  was 
taking  place  in  that  enfeebled  body.  And  I  persisted  in 
hoping  :  "  When  she  awakes  she  will  feel  stronger." 

She  seemed  to  feel  a  great  relief  when  she  held  my  hand 
in  her  own  icy  hands.  Sometimes  she  took  my  hand  and 
put  it  on  the  pillow,  pressed  her  cheek  against  it  with  a 
childlike  gesture,  and  gradually  dozed  off  in  that  posi- 
tion. So  as  not  to  awaken  her,  I  exerted  all  my  strength 
to  keep  for  a  long,  long  time  my  arm  in  this  one  position, 
which  was  torture. 

Once  she  said : 

"  Why  don't  you  sleep  here  with  me  ?     You  never  sleep." 

And  she  forced  me  to  lay  my  head  on  her  pillow. 

"  Let  us  go  to  sleep  !  " 

I  pretended  I  was  going  to  sleep,  to  set  her  a  good  exam- 
ple. But  when  I  opened  my  eyes  I  encountered  hers  wide 
open  and  fixed  on  me. 

"  Well  !  "  I  cried.     "  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  replied. 

In  her  eyes  there  was  an  expression  of  such  tender  good- 
ness that  I  felt  my  heart  melt.  I  extended  my  mouth  and 
kissed  her  eyelids. 

She  wished  to  kiss  me  the  same  way.     Then  she  repeated  : 

"  Let  us  go  to  sleep  now  !  " 

Thus,  a  veil  of  oblivion  sometimes  descended  over  our 
misfortune. 

Often  her  poor  feet  were  frozen.  I  felt  them  beneath  the 
covers,  and  they  seemed  to  me  like  marble.  She  herself 
said : 


THE    INTRUDER.  257 

"They  are  dead." 

They  were  so  emaciated  and  so  small  that  I  could  almost 
hold  them  in  my  hand.  They  inspired  me  with  a  great  pity. 
I  warmed  some  linen  at  the  fire  to  put  on  them,  and  did  not 
tire  of  giving  them  attention.  I  would  have  liked  to  warm 
them  with  my  breath,  to  cover  them  with  kisses.  With 
this  new  pity  there  mingled  the  distant  recollections  of  love 
— recollections  of  the  happy  time  when,  by  a  habit  that 
almost  resembled  a  vow,  I  reserved  for  myself  exclusively 
the  privilege  of  putting  on  her  shoes  in  the  morning  and 
taking  them  off  at  night  with  my  own  hands,  while  on  my 
knees  before  her. 

One  day,  after  long  vigils,  I  was  so  fatigued  that  an 
irresistible  slumber  seized  me  just  at  the  moment  when  I 
had  my  hands  beneath  the  cover  holding  the  little  dead 
feet  in  the  warm  cloth.  My  head  sank  forward,  and  I  went 
to  sleep  in  that  attitude. 

When  I  awoke  I  saw  my  mother,  my  brother,  and  the  doc- 
tor, who  were  smiling.  I  was  embarrassed. 

"  Poor  boy  !  He  is  tired  out,"  said  my  mother,  stroking 
my  hair  with  one  of  her  most  tender  gestures. 

Juliana  said : 

"  Take  him  away,  mother  !    Take  him  away,  Federico  !  " 

"  No,  no,  I  am  not  tired,"  I  repeated;  "  I  am  not  tired." 

The  doctor  announced  his  departure.  He  declared  that 
the  invalid  was  out  of  danger  and  on  the  road  to  recovery. 
But  it  was  necessary,  by  all  means  possible,  to  continue  to 
excite  the  regeneration  of  blood.  His  colleague,  Jemma 
de  Tussi,  with  whom  he  had  consulted  and  found  of  the 
same  opinion,  would  continue  the  same  treatment.  He 
had  less  confidence  in  remedies  than  in  the  rigorous  ob- 
servation of  the  various  hygienic  rules  and  of  diet  that  he 
had  prescribed. 
17 


258  THE    INTRUDER. 

"In  truth,"  he  added,  pointing  to  me,  "I  could  not 
wish  for  a  more  intelligent,  more  vigilant,  or  more  devoted 
nurse.  He  has  done  miracles,  and  he  will  do  more.  I 
shall  go  away  perfectly  easy." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  my  heart  leaped  into  my  throat  and 
was  suffocating  me.  The  unexpected  praise  of  that  serious 
man,  in  my  mother's  and  brother's  presence,  caused  me 
profound  emotion.  It  was  an  extraordinary  reward  for  me. 

I  looked  at  Juliana,  and  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  And  beneath  my  look  she  burst  out  all  at  once  into 
sobs.  I  made  a  superhuman  effort  to  contain  myself,  but 
could  not  succeed.  It  seemed  to  me  that  my  soul  was 
melted.  In  my  bosom  I  felt  all  the  virtues  in  the  world 
collected  together  in  that  unforgetable  hour. 


XXXIV. 

JULIANA  regained  strength  day  by  day,  but  slowly.  My 
assiduity  did  not  wane.  I  even  took  advantage  of  the 
remarks  made  by  Dr.  Vebesti  to  redouble  my  vigilance,  to 
permit  no  one  to  replace  me,  to  oppose  my  mother  and 
brother,  who  advised  me  to  rest.  My  body  from  now  on 
became  accustomed  to  the  severe  discipline,  and  scarcely 
ever  felt  fatigue.  My  entire  life  was  enclosed  between  the 
walls  of  that  room,  in  the  intimacy  of  that  alcove,  in  the 
circle  where  the  invalid  breathed. 

As  she  required  absolute  quiet,  as  she  was  ordered  to 
speak  little  so  as  to  avoid  fatigue,  I  exercised  my  ingenuity 
in  keeping  from  her  bedside  even  the  members  of  her  family. 
The  alcove  remained  therefore  isolated  from  the  rest  of  the 
house.  For  hours  and  hours  we — Juliana  and  I — were 
alone.  And,  crushed  as  she  was  by  her  illness,  attentive 
as  I  was  in  my  pious  duty,  we  were  at  times  able  to  forget 
our  misfortune,  to  lose  the  sense  of  reality,  to  retain  no 
other  consciousness  but  that  of  our  immense  love.  At 
times  it  seemed  to  me  that  beyond  the  curtains  nothing 
existed  any  longer,  so  great  was  the  concentration  of  my 
entire  being  on  the  invalid.  Nothing  occurred  to  recall  the 
frightful  thing  to  me.  I  saw  before  me  a  suffering  sister, 
and  my  sole  care  was  to  relieve  her  pain. 

Too  often  these  veils  of  forgetfulness  were  brutally  rent 
asunder.  My  mother  spoke  of  Raymond.  The  curtains 
opened  to  give  passage  to  the  intruder. 


260  THE    INTRUDER. 

My  mother  carried  him  in  her  arms.  1  was  present, 
and  I  felt  that  I  must  have  become  pale,  as  all  my  blood 
flowed  back  to  my  heart.  And  Juliana,  what  sensation  did 
she  feel  ? 

I  looked  at  that  reddish  face,  the  size  of  a  man's  fist, 
half  hidden  by  the  bonnet  trimmings,  and  with  a  fierce 
aversion  that  annihilated  every  other  emotion  in  my  soul, 
I  thought :  "  What  shall  I  do  to  deliver  myself  of  you  ? 
Why  were  you  not  born  dead  ?  "  My  hate  was  boundless. 
It  was  instinctive,  blind,  invincible — I  might  say,  carnal ; 
for  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  had  its  seat  in  my  flesh,  that  it 
surged  through  all  my  fibres,  through  all  my  nerves,  through 
all  my  veins.  Nothing  could  conquer  it,  nothing  could 
destroy  it.  It  sufficed  that  the  intruder  were  present,  at  no 
matter  what  hour,  no  matter  under  what  circumstances,  for 
there  to  be  immediately  induced  in  me  a  sort  of  annihilat- 
ing rage,  for  me  to  fall  beneath  the  empire  of  a  single  and 
unique  passion  :  my  hate  against  him. 

My  mother  said  to  Juliana  : 

"  Look  !  How  he  has  already  changed  in  a  few  days  ! 
He  resembles  you  more  than  Tullio,  but  he  bears  very  little 
resemblance  to  either  of  you.  He  is  still  too  little.  We 
shall  see  later.  Do  you  want  to  kiss  him  ?  " 

She  put  the  child's  forehead  to  the  invalid's  lips.  What 
sensation  did  Juliana  feel  ? 

The  infant  began  to  cry.  I  had  the  courage  to  say  to  my 
mother  without  bitterness : 

"  Take  him  away,  please.  Juliana  needs  quiet,  and  these 
shocks  do  her  great  harm." 

My  mother  left  the  alcove.  The  wails  died  away,  but 
continued  to  cause  me  the  same  sensation  of  painful  lacera- 
tion, the  same  desire  to  run  and  strangle  him  so  as  not  to 
hear  them.  We  heard  them  for  some  time  while  he  was 


THE   INTRUDER.  261 

being  carried  away.  When  they  finally  ceased,  the  silence 
seemed  horrible  to  me ;  it  fell  on  me  like  an  avalanche, 
it  crushed  me.  But,  instead  of  dwelling  on  my  pain,  I 
thought  immediately  that  Juliana  required  assistance. 

"  Ah  !  Tullio,  Tullio,  it  is  not  possible     .     .     ." 

"Be  silent,  Juliana!  Be  silent,  if  you  love  me!  I 
beseech  you,  be  silent !  " 

My  voice,  my  gesture,  was  supplicating.  All  the  irrita- 
tion of  my  hate  had  fallen.  I  suffered  only  on  account  of 
her  suffering;  I  feared  only  the  distress  caused  the  invalid, 
the  shock  she  had  received  from  that  fragile  life. 

"  If  you  love  me  you  must  think  of  nothing  but  your 
cure.  Look  at  me  !  I  think  only  of  you ;  I  suffer  only 
for  you.  You  must  not  torment  yourself.  You  must 
abandon  yourself  entirely  to  my  tenderness,  in  order  to 
get  well  .  .  ." 

In  her  feeble  and  trembling  voice  she  answered  : 

"  But  who  knows  what  you  secretly  feel  in  your  heart  ? 
Poor  soul  !" 

"  No,  no,  Juliana,  do  not  torment  yourself  !  I  suffer  only 
for  you  and  because  I  see  you  suffer.  I  forget  all  when  I 
see  you  smile.  When  you  feel  well,  I  am  happy.  You 
must  get  well  therefore  if  you  love  me ;  you  must  be  quiet, 
obedient,  patient.  When  you  are  well,  when  you  are 
stronger,  then  .  .  .  who  knows?  God  is  good." 

She  murmured : 

"  My  God  !  have  pity  on  us  !  " 

"  In  what  manner  ?  "  I  thought.  "  In  causing  the  Intruder 
to  die?  "  So,  then,  we  both  wished  his  death.  The  mother 
herself  saw  no  other  alternative  than  the  destruction  of  her 
child.  Yes,  that  was  the  only  alternative.  And  my  mem- 
ory recalled  the  brief  dialogue  that,  on  one  now  distant 
evening,  we  had  had  beneath  the  elms;  it  recalled  the 


262  THE    INTRUDER. 

painful  confession.  "  But  does  she  still  hate  him,  now 
he  is  born?  Can  she  feel  a  sincere  aversion  against 
the  flesh  of  her  flesh  ?  Does  she  pray  God  sincerely  to 
take  from  her  the  fruit  of  her  own  entrails  ?  I  again 
recalled  the  wild  hope  that  I  had  conceived,  as  if  in  a  flash, 
on  the  tragic  night.  "  Suppose  the  idea  of  crime  should 
occur  to  her  and  gradually  become  strong  enough  to  influ- 
ence her. ' ' 

And  I  looked  at  her  hands  stretched  out  on  the  cloth,  so 
pale  that  they  were  distinguishable  from  the  sheets  only  by 
the  azure  of  their  veins. 


XXXV. 

Now  that  the  invalid's  condition  was  improving  daily, 
a  strange  sorrow  oppressed  me.  At  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
I  did  not  see  the  sad  days  of  the  alcove  pass  by  without  a 
vague  regret.  Those  mornings,  those  evenings,  those  nights, 
however  desolate  they  were,  had  their  grave  sweetness. 
Every  day  my  labor  of  charity  seemed  more  beautiful.  An 
abundance  of  love  inundated  my  soul  and  submerged  at 
times  my  sombre  thoughts,  procured  for  me  at  times  forget- 
fulness  of  the  frightful  thing,  awoke  in  me  some  consola- 
tory illusion,  some  indefinite  dream.  Shut  up  in  that  alcove, 
I  felt  at  times  a  sensation  similar  to  that  felt  in  the  shadows 
of  lonely  chapels  :  I  felt  as  if  in  a  refuge  from  the  violences 
of  life,  from  opportunities  for  sinning.  At  times  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  light  curtains  separated  me  from  an  abyss. 
I  was  assailed  by  sudden  and  unknown  fears.  Around  me, 
in  the  night,  I  heard  the  silence  of  the  entire  house,  and 
with  the  eyes  of  my  soul  I  saw,  in  the  corner  of  a  distant 
room,  by  the  side  of  a  lighted  lamp,  the  cradle  in  which 
slept  the  intruder,  my  mother's  joy — my  heir.  A  great 
shudder  of  horror  ran  through  me,  and  I  remained  for  a 
long  time  influenced  by  fright,  under  the  sinister  light  of 
this  single  thought.  The  curtains  separated  me  from  an 
abyss. 

But,  now  that  Juliana's  condition  improved  daily,  excuses 
failed  me  for  prolonging  her  isolation,  and  by  degrees  the 
routine  of  domestic  life  invaded  the  peaceful  room.  My 


264  THE   INTRUDER. 

mother,  my  brother,  Maria,  Natalia,  Miss  Edith,  entered 
more  frequently,  remained  longer.  Raymond  imposed  him- 
self upon  the  maternal  tenderness.  It  was  no  longer  pos- 
sible to  avoid  it,  either  for  Juliana  or  for  me.  We  had  to 
be  lavish  with  kisses  and  smiles.  We  had  to  feint  and 
artfully  dissimulate,  to  endure  the  refined  cruelties  that 
chance  brought  to  us,  to  be  tortured  by  slow  fire. 

Nourished  with  healthy  and  substantial  milk,  surrounded 
by  infinite  care,  Raymond  gradually  lost  his  first  repulsive 
appearance  and  commenced  to  grow.  He  grew  whiter, 
acquired  a  more  clearly  defined  form,  and  now  kept  his 
gray  eyes  wide  open.  But  all  his  movements  were  odious 
to  me,  from  the  sucking  of  his  lips  when  applied  to  the 
breast  to  the  uncertain  movements  of  his  little  hands.  I 
could  never  discover  anything  attractive  in  him.  I  never 
had  a  thought  of  him  that  was  not  hateful.  When  I  was 
obliged  to  touch  him,  when  my  mother  brought  him  to  me 
for  a  kiss,  there  ran  over  my  entire  skin  the  same  thrill  of 
horror  which  contact  with  an  unclean  animal  would  have 
caused  me.  Every  fibre  in  me  revolted,  and  the  violence 
that  I  did  myself  threw  me  into  despair. 

Every  day  brought  its  new  torture,  and  my  mother  was 
my  grand  inquisitor.  Once,  on  unexpectedly  entering  the 
room,  and  parting  the  curtains  of  the  alcove,  I  perceived 
the  infant  lying  on  the  bed  by  Juliana's  side.  Nobody  was 
present.  We  three  were  there  together  without  witnesses. 
The  infant  slept  peacefully,  bound  up  in  its  swaddling- 
clothes. 

"  It  was  mother  who  left  him  here,"  stammered  Juliana. 

I  fled  like  a  madman. 

Another  time  Cristina  called  me.  I  followed  her  into 
the  room  containing  the  cradle.  My  mother  was  there, 
with  the  baby  on  her  knees. 


THE   INTRUDER.  265 

The  child  was  moving  its  limbs  and  arms,  turning  its 
eyes  from  one  side  to  the  other,  burying  its  fingers  in  its 
gaping  mouth.  At  the  wrists,  at  the  ankles,  behind  the 
knees,  on  the  lower  abdomen,  the  flesh  swelled  out  in  little 
cushions  and  was  covered  with  rice  powder.  My  mother's 
hands  caressed  the  little  members  with  delight,  pointing 
out  to  me  every  detail,  expatiating  on  the  skin  which  a 
recent  bath  had  polished  and  made  lustrous.  The  infant 
seemed  to  be  enjoying  it. 

"Feel  here,  feel  how  solid  he  is  already!"  she  said, 
inviting  me  to  touch  him. 

I  was  obliged  to  touch  him. 

"  See  how  heavy  he  is  !  " 

I  was  obliged  to  lift  him,  to  feel  that  warm  and  flaccid 
little  body  palpitate  between  my  hands,  which  were  seized 
by  a  trembling  that  was  not  due  to  tenderness. 

"  The  love,  the  love,  the  love  of  his  grandmother!" 
repeated  my  mother,  tickling  the  chin  of  the  infant,  who 
did  not  yet  know  how  to  laugh. 

The  dear  gray  head,  that  had  already  bent  over  two  blessed 
cradles  before  for  the  same  caresses,  and  much  whiter  now, 
bent  unconsciously  over  another's  child,  over  the  intruder. 
I  imagined  that  she  had  not  shown  herself  as  tender  toward 
Maria,  toward  Natalia,  toward  the  true  creatures  of  my 
blood. 

She  wished  to  swathe  him  herself.  She  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross  on  the  abdomen. 

"  But  you  are  not  yet  a  Christian!  " 

And  turning  toward  me,  she  said : 

"  The  time  has  come  to  fix  the  baptismal  day." 


XXXVI. 

DR.  JEMMA,  chevalier  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  of  Jeru- 
salem, a  handsome,  cheerful  old  man,  brought  a  bouquet  of 
white  chrysanthemums  as  an  offering  to  Juliana. 

"Oh!  my  favorite  flowers!"  said  Juliana.  "Thank 
you." 

She  took  the  bouquet,  gazed  on  it  for  a  long  time,  bur- 
ied her  tapering  fingers  in  it ;  and  there  was  a  sad  analogy 
between  her  pallor  and  that  of  the  autumn  flowers.  They 
were  chrysanthemums  as  large  as  full-blown  roses,  tufted, 
heavy ;  they  had  the  color  of  a  sickly,  bloodless,  almost 
lifeless  skin,  the  livid  whiteness  noticeable  on  the  cheeks 
of  beggars  benumbed  by  cold.  A  few  were  imperceptibly 
veined  with  violet,  others  were  slightly  tinged  with  yellow, 
with  exquisite  tones. 

"  Take  them,"  she  said  to  me.     "  Put  them  in  water." 

It  was  in  the  morning ;  it  was  in  November.  We  had  just 
passed  the  anniversary  of  the  fatal  day  which  these  flowers 
recalled. 

"  Que  ferai-je  sans  EuryJice  ?" 

While  I  was  putting  the  white  chrysanthemums  into  a 
vase  the  air  from  "  Orpheus  "  sang  in  my  memory.  There 
reappeared  in  my  mind  certain  fragments  of  the  singular 
scene  that  had  taken  place  the  year  previous,  and  I  saw 
Juliana  again  in  that  warm  and  golden  light,  in  that  suave 
perfume,  in  the  midst  of  all  those  objects  bearing  the 
imprint  of  feminine  grace,  to  which  the  phantom  of  the 


THE   INTRUDER.  267 

ancient  melody  seemed  to  impart  the  palpitation  of  a 
secret  life,  to  spread  the  shadow  of  I  know  not  what 
mystery.  Had  not  these  flowers  awakened  in  her  also  some 
remembrance  ? 

A  mortal  sorrow  weighed  on  my  soul — the  sorrow  of  an 
inconsolable  lover.  The  Other  presented  himself  before 
me,  and  his  eyes  were  as  gray  as  those  of  the  intruder. 

The  doctor  said  to  me  from  the  alcove : 

"  You  may  open  the  window.  It  is  well  to  have  the 
room  well  aired,  to  have  plenty  of  sunlight  enter." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  open  it !  "  cried  the  invalid. 

I  opened  it.  At  this  moment  my  mother  entered,  together 
with  the  wet-nurse,  who  had  Raymond  in  her  arms.  I  re- 
mained between  the  curtains,  and  leaned  against  the  balus- 
trade and  looked  out  on  the  landscape.  Behind  me  I 
heard  the  familiar  voices. 

We  had  arrived  at  the  end  of  November.  Already  the 
summer  of  the  Dead  had  passed.  A  great  vacuous  light 
extended  over  the  humid  country,  over  the  noble  and  peace- 
ful profile  of  the  hillsides.  It  seemed  that  through  the 
confused  tops  of  the  olive  plants  a  silvery  vapor  was  circu- 
lating. Here  and  there  several  threads  of  smoke  whit- 
ened in  the  sun.  The  breeze  bore,  at  intervals,  the  light 
rustling  of  falling  leaves.  The  rest  was  only  peace  and 
silence. 

"  Why,"  I  thought,  "did  she  sing  that  morning  ?  Why, 
on  hearing  her,  did  I  feel  so  agitated  ?  '*  She  seemed  to 
me  another  woman.  Was  she  then  in  love  with  him  ?  To 
what  condition  of  her  soul  did  that  unusual  effusion  cor- 
respond ?  She  sang  because  she  loved.  Perhaps  I  am 
mistaken.  But  I  shall  never  know  the  truth. 

It  was  no  longer  the  jealous  agitation  of  the  senses,  but  a 
more  noble  affliction  that  arose  from  the  depths  of  my  soul. 


268  THE    INTRUDER. 

I  thought :  "  What  remembrance  has  she  retained  of  him  ? 
Has  that  remembrance  often  tormented  her  ?  The  son  is  a 
living  bond.  She  finds  in  Raymond  something  of  the  man 
to  whom  she  has  belonged;  she  will  find  more  precise 
resemblances.  It  is  impossible  that  she  should  forget  Ray- 
mond's father,  and  perhaps  she  has  him  constantly  before 
her  eyes.  What  would  she  feel  if  she  knew  he  were 
doomed  ?  " 

And  I  stopped  to  imagine  the  progress  of  the  paralysis, 
and  to  form  an  inner  picture  of  that  man's  condition  based 
on  that  furnished  me  by  the  recollection  of  poor  Spinelli. 
I  saw  him  once  more  seated  in  his  large  red  leather  arm- 
chair, of  a  clayey  pallor,  with  every  line  of  his  visage 
drawn,  his  mouth  distorted  and  gaping,  full  of  saliva  and 
stammering  incomprehensibly.  I  once  more  saw  the  gesture 
he  made  every  moment  to  gather  in  his  handkerchief  that 
ever-flowing  saliva  which  rolled  down  the  corners  of  his 
mouth. 

"Tullio!" 

It  was  my  mother's  voice.  I  turned  and  walked  toward 
the  alcove. 

Juliana  lay  on  her  back,  dejected  and  silent. 

"  It's  all  arranged.  The  baptism  takes  place  the  day  after 
to-morrow,"  said  my  mother.  "The  doctor  believes  that 
Juliana  must  remain  in  bed  for  some  time  yet." 

"  How  do  you  think  she  is,  doctor  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  a  slight  pause  in  her  pro- 
gress," replied  he,  shaking  his  fine  white  head.  "  I  find 
her  very  feeble.  We  must  increase  the  alimentation,  force 
it  a  little." 

Juliana  interrupted  him,  looking  at  me  the  while  with  a 
very  wan  smile  : 

"  He  examined  my  heart." 


THE    INTRUDER.  269 

"  Well  ?  "  I  asked,  turning  abruptly  toward  the  old  man. 

I  thought  I  saw  a  shadow  pass  over  his  forehead. 

"  It  is  a  perfectly  healthy  heart/'  he  hastened  to  answer. 
"  It  only  needs  blood  .  .  .  and  quiet.  Come  !  Come  ! 
Be  brave  !  How  is  your  appetite  to-day  ?  " 

The  invalid  made  a  movement  of  the  lips  expressive  of 
disgust.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  open  window,  through 
which  entered  the  warm  sunlight. 

"  It  is  cold  to-day,  is  it  not  ?  "  she  asked  timidly,  put- 
ting her  hands  beneath  the  bed-covers. 

One  could  see  that  she  was  shivering. 


XXXVII. 

THE  following  day  Federico  and  I  paid  a  visit  to  Gio- 
vanni di  Scordio.  It  was  the  last  afternoon  of  November. 
We  went  on  foot,  crossing  the  tilled  fields. 

We  walked  along  silent  and  thoughtful.  The  sun  slowly 
set  on  the  horizon.  An  impalpable  golden  dust  floated 
above  our  heads  in  the  quiet  air.  The  humid  earth  had  a 
vigorous,  brown  color,  an  aspect  of  tranquil  energy,  and,  so 
to  speak,  a  peaceful  consciousness  of  its  virtue.  From  the 
furrows  mounted  a  visible  breath,  like  that  exhaled  from  the 
nostrils  of  cattle.  Beneath  the  soft  light  the  white  objects 
took  on  an  extraordinary  whiteness,  a  snowlike  purity.  A 
cow  in  the  distance,  a  plowman's  shirt,  a  stretched  sheet, 
the  walls  of  a  farm-house,  shone  like  under  the  light  of  the 
full  moon. 

"  You  are  sad,"  said  Federico  to  me,  gently. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sad.     I  have  no  hope  left." 

There  was  another  long  silence.  Flocks  of  birds  rose 
from  the  bushes  with  a  fluttering  of  wings.  The  deadened 
tinkling  of  the  little  bells  of  a  distant  troop  reached  us. 

"  Of  what  are  you  hopeless  ?  "  asked  my  brother  in  the 
same  kind  way. 

"  Of  Juliana's  health,  and  also  of  mine." 

He  remained  silent;  he  did  not  speak  a  single  word  of 
consolation.  Perhaps  he  was  feeling  internally  the  pressure 
of  pain. 

"  I  have  a  presentiment,"  I  went  on,  "  that  Juliana  will 
never  leave  her  bed." 


THE    INTRUDER.  271 

He  remained  silent.  We  passed  along  a  path  bordered 
by  trees,  and  the  fallen  leaves  crackled  beneath  our  feet, 
and  at  the  places  where  there  were  no  leaves,  the  soil  had 
a  hollow  sound,  as  if  mined  by  subterranean  cavities. 

"When  she  is  dead,"  I  added,  "what  will  become  of 
me  ?" 

A  sudden  fear  came  upon  me,  a  sort  of  panicky  terror ; 
and  I  looked  at  my  brother,  who  remained  silent,  with  a 
frown  on  his  face.  I  looked  about  me  at  the  mute  desola- 
tion of  the  day.  Never  before,  so  clearly  as  then,  had  I 
had  the  sensation  of  the  frightful  emptiness  of  life. 

"  No,  no,  Tullio,"  said  my  brother.  "Juliana  cannot 
die." 

It  was  a  vain  assertion,  without  any  value  in  face  of  the 
fiat  of  Destiny.  And  yet  he  had  pronounced  these  words 
with  a  simplicity  that  gave  me  a  shock,  so  extraordinary 
did  they  appear  to  me.  Thus,  at  times,  children  suddenly 
say  things  that  go  straight  to  the  heart,  and  as  if  a  prophetic 
voice  spoke  through  their  unconscious  lips. 

"  Can  you  read  the  future  ?"  I  asked  him,  without  a 
shadow  of  irony. 

"  No,  but  I  have  that  presentiment,  and  I  believe  it." 

Once  more  my  brother  had  inspired  confidence  in  me ; 
once  more,  thanks  to  him,  I  felt  a  slight  relaxation  of  the 
iron  band  that  wounded  my  heart.  But  it  was  only  a  short 
respite.  During  the  remainder  of  our  walk  he  spoke  to 
me  of  Raymond. 

When  we  were  near  the  place  inhabited  by  Giovanni  di 
Scordio,  Federico  perceived  the  tall  figure  of  the  old  man 
in  a  field. 

"  Look  at  him  !  He  is  sowing.  We  bring  him  the  invi- 
tation at  a  solemn  hour." 

We  approached.     My  inner  trembling  was  as  strong  as  if 


272  THE    INTRUDER. 

I  were  on  the  point  of  committing  a  profanation.  Was  I 
not,  in  fact,  about  to  protane  a  beautiful  and  great  thing  ? 
Was  I  not  about  to  solicit  the  spiritual  paternity  of  that 
venerable  old  man  for  the  child  of  adultery  ? 

"See,  what  a  noble  figure!"  cried  Federico,  stooping 
and  pointing  to  the  sower.  "  He  has  only  a  man's  stature, 
and  yet  he  looks  like  a  giant." 

In  order  to  watch  him  we  stopped  behind  a  tree  at  the 
edge  of  the  field.  Giovanni,  attentive  to  his  labor,  had 
not  yet  perceived  us. 

He  walked  straight  before  him  in  the  field,  with  meas- 
ured slowness.  His  head  was  covered  by  a  green  and 
black  woolen  cap,  with  two  ear-laps  that  hung  down  his 
cheeks,  in  the  ancient  Phrygian  fashion.  A  little  white 
bag,  full  of  seed  and  attached  to  his  neck  by  a  leather  thong, 
hung  before  him  at  the  waist.  With  his  left  hand  he  held 
the  bag  open,  while  with  his  right  he  took  out  the  seed  and 
scattered  it.  His  gesture  was  sweeping,  vigorous,  and  sure, 
cadenced  with  an  equal  rhythm.  The  seed,  flying  from  his 
hand,  flashed  an  instant  in  the  air  with  golden  scintilla- 
tions and  fell  in  an  equal  rain  on  the  humid  furrows.  The 
sower  advanced  slowly,  burying  his  naked  feet  in  the  earth, 
which  yielded  beneath  his  steps,  his  head  high  in  the  sanc- 
tity of  the  light.  His  entire  person  was  simple,  sacred, 
and  grand. 

We  entered  the  field. 

"  My  respects  to  you,  Giovanni,"  cried  Federico,  going 
forward  to  meet  the  old  man.  "  Blessed  be  your  seed  ! 
Blessed  be  your  future  bread  !  " 

"  My  respects  to  you,"  I  repeated  in  my  turn. 

The  old  man  left  his  work  and  uncovered  his  head. 

"Giovanni,  you  must  cover  yourself,  if  you  wish  us  to 
remain  covered,"  said  Federico. 


THE    INTRUDER.  273 

The  old  man  put  on  his  cap,  smiling,  confused,  almost 
intimidated.  He  asked  with  a  modest  air : 

"  To  what  do  I  owe  so  much  honor  ?  " 

I  answered  in  a  voice  which  I  forced  to  be  firm : 

"  I  came  to  beg  you  to  hold  my  son  at  the  baptism." 

The  old  man  looked  at  me  with  surprise ;  then  he  looked 
at  my  brother.  His  confusion  increased.  He  murmured  : 

* '  You  do  me  too  much  honor !  ' ' 

"  Well,  what  is  your  answer  ?  " 

"I  am  at  your  orders.  May  God  reward  you  for  the 
honor  you  have  done  me  to-day  !  May  God  be  praised 
for  the  joy  that  he  has  accorded  me  in  my  old  age  !  May 
the  benedictions  of  heaven  descend  on  your  son  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Giovanni." 

I  gave  him  my  hand.  And  I  saw  his  profound  and  sad 
eyes  become  moist  from  tenderness.  My  heart  swelled 
with  acute  anguish. 

The  old  man  asked  me  : 

"  What  name  will  you  give  him  ?' 

"  Raymond." 

"  The  name  of  your  father  of  sacred  memory.  He  was  a 
man,  and  you  resemble  him." 

My  brother  said : 

"  Do  you  sow  alone  ?  " 

"  Alone,  yes.     I  sow  it  and  I  reap  it.'1 

He  showed  the  harrow,  and  the  pickaxe  that  glittered 
on  the  brown  earth.  All  around  could  be  seen  the  still 
uncovered  seed,  the  germs  of  future  grain. 

My  brother  said : 

"  Continue.  We  will  leave  you  to  your  work.  You  will 
come  to-morrow  morning  to  the  Badiola.  Farewell, 
Giovanni.  May  God  bless  your  work  !  " 

We  clasped  that  unwearied  hand,  sanctified  by  the  seed 
18 


274  THE    INTRUDER. 

it  scattered,  by  the  good  it  had  shed.  The  old  man  made 
a  movement  to  accompany  us  as  far  as  the  road ;  but  he 
stopped  and  said,  not  without  hesitation : 

"  Grant  me  one  favor,  I  pray  you." 

"  Speak  out,  Giovanni." 

He  opened  the  bag  suspended  from  his  neck. 

"  Take  a  handful  of  seed  and  throw  it  on  my  furrows." 

I  plunged  my  hand  first  into  the  wheat,  took  as  much  as 
I  could,  and  scattered  it.  My  brother  did  the  same. 

"And  now,  heed  what  I  tell  you,"  continued  Giovanni 
di  Scordio  in  an  agitated  voice,  contemplating  the  seeded 
ground.  "  God  grant  that  my  godson  be  as  good  as  the 
bread  raised  from  this  seed  !  Amen  !  " 


XXXVIII. 

THE  following  morning  the  baptismal  ceremony  took 
place  without  festivity  or  pomp,  on  account  of  Juliana's 
condition.  My  mother,  my  brother,  Maria,  Natalia,  Miss 
Edith,  the  midwife,  the  wet-nurse,  and  the  Chevalier 
Jemmawere  present.  I  remained  by  the  invalid's  bedside. 

A  heavy  somnolence  weighed  upon  her.  She  scarcely 
breathed  through  her  half-open  mouth,  as  pale  as  the  palest 
flowers  that  blossom  in  the  shade.  Darkness  reigned  in  the 
alcove.  On  looking  at  her,  I  thought:  "  Can  I  not  save 
her  ?  I  have  succeeded  in  banishing  death  so  far ;  but 
death  seems  to  be  returning.  If  there  is  no  change 
quickly,  she  will  certainly  die.  So  long  as  I  succeeded  in 
keeping  Raymond  away  from  her,  so  long  as  I  succeeded  by 
tenderness  in  causing  her  a  partial  illusion  and  forgetful- 
ness,  she  seemed  desirous  of  getting  well.  But  when  she 
sees  her  son,  when  the  torture  begins  again,  she  grows 
worse  from  day  to  day,  she  loses  more  blood  than  if  the 
hemorrhage  still  continued.  I  witness  her  agony.  She  no 
longer  hears  me,  no  longer  obeys  me  as  she  did  before. 
Who  will  be  the  cause  of  her  death  ?  He.  It  is  he,  most 
assuredly,  he  who  will  kill  her."  A  flood  of  hate  mounted 
from  the  deepest  depths  of  my  being,  and  I  felt  it  even 
invade  my  hands  with  a  homicidal  impulse.  I  saw  the  little 
malefic  being  who  was  growing  fat  on  milk,  who  prospered 
in  peace,  removed  from  all  danger,  in  the  midst  of  infinite 
cares.  "  My  mother  loves  him  better  than  she  loves  Juli- 


276  THE    INTRUDER. 

ana.  My  mother  is  more  concerned  about  him  than  she  is 
about  the  poor  dying  creature.  Oh  !  I  will  make  away 
with  him,  at  any  cost.  I  must !  "  And  the  vision  of  the 
crime  already  consummated  passed  over  me  like  a  flash : 
the  vision  of  the  little  dead  body  in  swaddling-clothes,  the 
little  innocent  corpse  in  its  coffin.  "  The  baptism  shall  be 
his  viaticum.  Giovanni's  arms  will  carry  him." 

A  sudden  curiosity  seized  me.  The  painful  spectacle 
attracted  me.  Juliana  was  still  slumbering.  I  cautiously 
left  the  alcove;  I  left  the  room;  I  called  Cristina  and 
left  her  on  guard ;  then,  with  rapid  step,  I  walked  toward 
the  gallery,  suffocated  by  anguish. 

The  small  door  was  open.  I  perceived  a  man  kneeling 
before  the  railing;  and  I  recognized  Pietro,  the  faithful  old 
servant  who  was  with  us  at  my  birth  and  was  present  at 
my  baptism.  He  arose,  not  without  pain. 

"  Stay,  stay,  Pietro  !  "  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  placing  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder  to  make  him  kneel  again.  And  I 
knelt  down  near  him,  and  leaned  my  head  against  the 
railing,  and  looked  below  into  the  chapel.  I  saw  every- 
thing with  perfect  clearness ;  I  heard  the  formulas  of  the 
ritual. 

The  ceremony  had  already  begun.  I  learned  from  Pietro 
that  the  infant  had  already  received  the  salt.  The  officiant 
was  the  priest  of  Tussi,  Don  Gregorio  Artese.  He  was  at 
that  moment  reciting  the  Credo  with  the  sponsor,  the  one 
in  a  loud  voice,  the  other  repeating  in  low  tones.  Gio- 
vanni held  the  infant  with  his  right  arm,  the  arm  which 
the  evening  before  had  sowed  the  wheat.  His  left  hand 
was  laid  on  the  white  ribbons  and  laces.  And  those 
bony  hands,  dry  and  brown,  which  seemed  as  if  cast  in 
living  bronze — those  hands,  hardened  by  the  instruments  of 
agriculture,  sanctified  by  the  good  they  had  done,  by  the 


THE    INTRUDER.  277 

immense  labor  that  they  had  accomplished,  and  now 
occupied  in  holding  that  little  child,  had  such  charming 
delicacy  and  timidity  that  I  could  not  remove  my  gaze 
from  them.  Raymond  did  not  cry,  but  his  mouth  moved 
ceaselessly,  full  of  a  liquid  froth  that  ran  down  his  chin 
on  to  the  embroidered  bib. 

After  the  exorcism  the  priest  wet  his  finger  with  saliva 
and  touched  the  little  pink  ears,  pronouncing  the  mirac- 
ulous word  : 

"  Ephpheta." 

Then  he  touched  the  nostrils,  saying : 

"  In  odor  em  sanctitatis    .     .     ." 

Then  he  dipped  his  thumb  in  the  oil  of  the  catechumens, 
and  while  Giovanni  held  the  child  on  its  back,  he  admin- 
istered the  unction  in  form  of  a  cross  on  the  chest ;  and 
when  Giovanni  turned  the  child  on  its  stomach,  he  admin- 
istered the  unction  between  the  shoulder  blades,  in  form 
of  a  cross,  saying  : 

"Ego  te  linio  oleo  salutis  in  Chris  to  Jesu  Domino  Nos- 
tro  .  .  ." 

Then,  with  a  small  tuft  of  cotton,  he  wiped  off  the  unction. 

Then  he  removed  the  violet  veil,  the  color  of  mourning 
and  of  sorrow,  and  put  on  the  white  stole,  in  token  of  joy, 
in  order  to  announce  that  the  original  sin  was  about  to  be 
removed.  And  he  addressed  Raymond  by  his  name,  putting 
to  him  the  three  solemn  questions,  which  the  sponsor 
answered : 

"  Credo,  credo,  credo." 

The  chapel  was  singularly  sonorous.  A  ray  of  sunlight, 
entering  by  one  of  the  high  oval  windows,  fell  upon  the 
marble  paving  stones  covering  the  deep  sepulchres  where 
several  of  my  ancestors  reposed  in  peace.  My  mother  and 
brother  stood  behind  Giovanni,  side  by  side.  Maria  and 


278  THE    INTRUDER. 

Natalia  stood  on  tiptoe  to  catch  a  view  of  the  child, 
inquisitive,  smiling  from  time  to  time,  whispering  to  each 
other.  These  whisperings  caused  Giovanni  to  turn  partially 
around,  with  an  indulgent  gesture  indicating  all  the  in- 
effable tenderness  which  the  old  man  bore  children  and 
that  overflowed  from  his  big  heart. 

"  Raymunde,  vis  baptizari?  "  asked  the  officiant. 

"  Volo,"  responded  the  sponsor,  repeating  the  word  that 
had  been  prompted  to  him. 

The  clerk  presented  the  silver  basin,  in  which  shone  the 
baptismal  water.  My  mother  removed  the  infant's  hood, 
while  the  sponsor  extended  the  child  on  its  stomach  in 
order  to  receive  the  ablution.  The  round  head,  on  which 
I  could  distinguish  the  whitish  eruptions  of  the  milk-crust, 
hung  above  the  basin.  And  the  priest,  after  having  taken 
some  water  from  a  little  vase,  poured  it  three  times  on  the 
child's  head,  each  time  making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Ego  te  baptize  in  nomine  Patris,  et  Filii,  et  Spiritus 
Sancti." 

Raymond  began  to  wail  violently,  and  louder  still  when 
his  head  was  being  dried.  And,  when  Giovanni  raised  him 
up,  I  saw  that  his  face  was  reddened  by  the  afflux  of  blood 
and  by  his  efforts,  and  wrinkled  by  the  contractions  of  the 
mouth.  And,  as  usual,  the  wailings  caused  me  the  same 
sensation  of  painful  laceration,  the  same  exasperation  .of 
anger.  Nothing  in  him  irritated  me  more  than  that  voice, 
than  that  obstinate  wailing  which  for  the  first  time  had 
struck  me  so  cruel  a  blow  on  that  lugubrious  October  morn- 
ing. It  was  an  intolerable  shock  to  my  nerves. 

The  priest  dipped  his  thumb  into  the  consecrated  oil  and 
anointed  the  neophyte's  forehead,  reciting  the  ritual, 
which  rose  above  the  wailings.  Then  he  put  on  the  white 
robe,  symbol  of  Innocence. 


THE    INTRUDER.  279 

"  Accipe  vestem  candidam" 

Then  he  handed  the  blessed  taper  to  the  sponsor. 

"  Accipe  lampadem  ardentem" 

The  Innocent  became  quiet.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
little  flame  that  trembled  at  the  tip  of  the  long  colored 
candle.  Giovanni  di  Scordio  bore  the  newly  made  Chris- 
tian on  his  right  arm,  and  with  his  left  hand  he  held  the 
symbol  of  the  divine  fire,  in  a  simple  and  grave  attitude, 
regarding  the  priest  who  recited  the  litany.  He  towered 
above  all  those  present  by  a  full  head.  All  round  there 
was  no  whiteness  as  pure  as  the  whiteness  of  his  hair,  not 
even  the  Innocent's  robe. 

11  Vade  in  pace,  et  Dominus  sit  tecum." 

"Amen." 

My  mother  took  the  Innocent  from  the  old  man's  arms, 
pressed  him  against  her  bosom,  and  kissed  him.  My 
brother  kissed  him  too.  All  the  spectators  kissed  him  in 
turn. 

Near  me  Pietro  was  still  on  his  knees  weeping.  Over- 
come, distracted,  I  rose  abruptly,  went  out,  crossed  the 
corridors  rapidly,  and  entered  Juliana's  room  unannounced. 

Cristina  asked  with  fear,  lowering  her  voice  : 

"  What  has  happened,  signer  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing.     Is  she  awake  ?" 

"  No,  signor.     I  think  she  is  asleep." 

I  parted  the  curtains  and  softly  entered  the  alcove.  At 
first  I  perceived  nothing  in  the  darkness  but  the  whiteness 
of  the  pillow.  I  approached,  and  bent  over.  Juliana's 
eyes  were  wide  open  and  were  gazing  at  me  fixedly.  Per- 
haps she  divined  all  my  anguish  from  my  aspect ;  but  she 
said  not  a  word.  She  closed  her  eyes  again,  as  if  never  to 
open  them. 


XXXIX. 

FROM  that  day  began  the  last  and  vertiginous  period  of 
the  lucid  madness  which  was  to  lead  me  to  the  crime. 
From  that  day  commenced  the  premeditation  of  the  easiest 
and  surest  means  of  causing  the  Innocent's  death. 

It  was  a  cold,  ingenious,  incessant  premeditation,  that 
absorbed  all  my  inner  faculties.  The  fixed  idea  possessed 
me  absolutely  with  inconceivable  power  and  tenacity.  All 
my  being  labored  in  a  supreme  crisis ;  and  the  fixed,  clear, 
rigid  idea  directed  me,  without  deviation,  toward  the 
goal  as  if  I  were  gliding  along  over  steel  rails.  My  per- 
spicacity seemed  to  be  trebled.  Nothing  escaped  me, 
within  me  or  about  me.  There  was  not  a  single  minute  of 
relaxation  in  my  circumspection.  I  said  nothing,  I  did 
nothing,  that  could  awaken  suspicion  or  cause  surprise.  I 
simulated,  I  dissimulated,  ceaselessly,  and  not  only  with 
my  mother,  my  brother,  and  all  the  others  who  knew 
nothing,  but  even  with  Juliana. 

With  Juliana  I  affected  resignation,  appeasement,  at 
times  even  a  sort  of  forgetful  ness.  I  studied  to  avoid  the 
slightest  allusions  to  the  intruder.  I  sought  by  every  means 
to  encourage  her,  to  inspire  her  with  confidence,  to  cause 
her  to  observe  the  directions  that  must  bring  her  back  to 
health.  I  multiplied  my  zealous  endeavors.  I  wanted  to 
feel  for  her  a  tenderness  so  profound,  so  forgetful  of  the 
past,  that  it  would  permit  her  to  again  find  the  freshest 
and  purest  savor  in  life.  I  felt  again  the  sensation  that  my 


THE    INTRUDER.  281 

being  was  becoming  transfused  into  the  body  of  the  invalid, 
that  I  was  communicating  to  her  some  of  my  strength,  that 
I  imparted  an  impulse  to  her  exhausted  heart.  It  was  I,  it 
seemed,  who,  from  day  to  day,  forced  her  to  live  and 
breathed  into  her  an  artificial  vigor,  while  waiting  the 
tragic  and  liberating  hour.  I  repeated  to  myself:  "To- 
morrow !  "  and  to-morrow  came,  passed,  disappeared,  with- 
out the  hour  having  sounded.  I  again  repeated:  "To- 
morrow ! ' ' 

I  was  convinced  that  the  mother's  health  depended  on 
the  child's  death.  I  was  convinced  that,  after  the  suppres- 
sion of  the  intruder,  she  would  be  cured.  I  thought :  "  It 
would  be  impossible  for  her  not  to  get  well.  She  would 
resuscitate  gradually,  be  regenerated  with  new  blood.  She 
would  appear  a  new  creature,  freed  from  all  impurity. 
We  would  both  feel  purified,  worthy  of  each  other,  after 
so  long  and  so  painful  an  expiation.  The  illness,  the 
convalescence,  would  relegate  the  sad  memories  to  an 
indefinite  distance.  And  I  would  try  to  efface  from  her 
soul  even  the  shadow  of  the  recollection;  I  would  try  to 
cause  her  perfect  oblivion  in  love.  After  this  great  trial, 
every  other  human  love  would  seem  frivolous  by  com- 
parison with  ours."  The  vision  of  the  future  burned  me 
with  impatience;  the  incertitude  became  intolerable  to 
me;  the  crime  appeared  to  me  exempt  from  horror.  I 
bitterly  reproached  myself  for  the  perplexities  which  an 
excess  of  prudence  kept  me  in  ;  but  no  light  had  yet 
illumined  my  brain.  I  had  not  succeeded  in  finding  a 
sure  means. 

Raymond  must  appear  to  have  died  a  natural  death. 
The  doctor  himself  must  not  have  a  glimmer  of  sus- 
picion. Of  the  various  methods  I  examined,  not  one 
seemed  to  me  satisfactory,  practicable.  And  yet,  while  I 


282  THE    INTRUDER. 

awaited  the  revealing  flash,  the  divine  inspiration,  I  felt 
myself  attracted  by  a  strange  fascination  toward  the  victim. 

Frequently  I  unexpectedly  entered  the  nurse's  room  with 
so  strong  a  palpitation  that  I  feared  she  would  hear  my 
heart-beats.  Her  name  was  Anna.  She  was  a  woman  from 
Montegorgo  Pausula,  of  a  grand  race  of  robust  mountain- 
eers. She  was  dressed  after  the  fashion  of  her  country — a 
red  petticoat  with  a  thousand  straight  and  symmetrical 
folds,  a  black  corsage  embroidered  with  gold,  with  two 
long  sleeves  through  which  her  arms  were  rarely  passed. 
Her  head  arose  bistre-like  above  her  very  white  chemise ; 
but  the  whiteness  of  her  eyes  and  teeth  exceeded  in 
intensity  the  snowy  whiteness  of  the  fabric.  Her  eyes, 
brilliant  like  enamel,  remained  almost  always  motion- 
less, without  revery,  without  thought.  The  mouth  was 
large,  half-open,  taciturn,  illuminated  by  a  row  of  even 
and  well-set  teeth.  The  hair,  so  black  that  it  seemed 
to  have  a  violet  reflection,  was  parted  on  a  low  fore- 
head, and  terminated  in  two  tresses  that  were  rolled  up 
behind  the  ears  like  the  horns  of  a  ram.  She  was  almost 
constantly  seated,  with  the  nursing  child  in  her  arms,  in  a 
sculptured  attitude,  neither  sad  nor  joyous. 

I  entered.  Usually  the  room  was  dark.  I  saw  the 
white  spot  made  by  Raymond's  dresses  on  the  arm  of  that 
bronzed  and  powerful  woman,  who  fixed  on  me  her  eyes 
like  those  of  an  inanimate  idol,  without  a  word  and  with- 
out a  smile. 

Sometimes  I  stopped  and  watched  the  nursing  infant 
sucking  at  the  rounded  breast,  which  was  of  a  singularly 
light  tone  in  comparison  with  the  face,  and  crossed  by  blue 
veins.  He  sucked,  sometimes  gently,  sometimes  vigorously, 
sometimes  without  appetite,  sometimes  with  sudden  avidity. 
The  soft  cheek  followed  the  movement  of  the  lips,  the 


THE    INTRUDER.  283 

throat  palpitated  with  every  aspiration,  the  nose  almost 
disappeared  beneath  the  pressure  of  the  swollen  breast.  I 
imagined  seeing  the  good  spread  through  that  tender  body 
with  that  inflow  of  fresh,  healthy,  and  substantial  milk.  I 
imagined  that  at  every  new  swallow  the  vitality  of  the  in- 
truder became  more  tenacious,  more  resistant,  more  malefic. 
I  felt  a  dull  chagrin  at  noticing  that  he  was  growing  and 
bore  no  indication  of  weakness,  except  those  whitish  crusts, 
light  and  inoffensive.  I  thought :  "  Have  not  all  the  agi- 
tations, all  the  sufferings  of  the  mother,  while  she  was 
bearing  him,  done  him  some  harm  ?  Or  has  he  really 
some  organic  vice  that  is  not  yet  manifest,  but  which,  in 
the  end,  could  develop  and  cause  his  death  ? ' ' 

One  day,  when  I  found  him  undressed  in  his  cradle, 
I  surmounted  my  repugnance;  I  felt  him,  I  examined  him 
from  head  to  foot,  I  applied  my  ear  to  his  chest  to  listen  to 
his  heart  beat.  He  drew  up  his  little  limbs,  then  forcibly 
extended  them;  he  waved  his  hands,  all  covered  with 
dimples  and  folds ;  he  buried  in  his  mouth  his  fingers  ter- 
minated by  minute  nails.  Folds  of  flesh  accumulated 
around  the  wrists,  at  the  ankles,  behind  the  knees,  on  the 
thighs,  at  the  groins,  on  the  lower  abdomen. 

Several  times  also  I  watched  him  while  he  slept.  I  looked 
at  him  for  a  long  time,  thinking  and  re-thinking  of  the 
means,  made  absent-minded  by  the  inner  vision  of  the  little 
corpse  in  swaddling-clothes  stretched  in  the  coffin,  amidst 
the  wreaths  of  white  chrysanthemums,  between  four  lighted 
candles.  He  slept  very  peacefully ;  he  lay  on  his  back,  his 
fist  closed  over  his  thumb.  At  times  his  moist  lips  made  a 
movement  as  of  sucking.  If  the  innocence  of  that  slumber 
went  to  my  heart,  if  the  unconscious  act  of  those  lips  soft- 
ened me,  I  said  to  myself,  as  if  to  make  my  resolution  firm  : 
"  He  must  die  !  "  And  I  represented  to  myself  the  suffer- 


284  THE    INTRUDER. 

ings  already  endured  for  him — the  recent  sufferings,  those 
that  were  preparing — and  how  much  affection  he  usurped  to 
the  detriment  of  my  own  children,  and  Juliana's  agony, 
and  all  the  menaces  that  the  mysterious  tempest  suspended 
over  our  heads  concealed.  In  that  way  I  rekindled  my 
homicidal  will,  I  confirmed  the  sentence  of  the  sleeper. 
In  a  corner,  in  the  dark,  the  guardian  was  seated,  the 
woman  from  Montegorgo,  taciturn,  motionless,  like  an 
idol ;  and  the  whiteness  of  her  eyes,  the  whiteness  of  her 
teeth,  rivalled  in  brilliancy  the  large  golden  circles  in  her 
ears. 


XL. 

ONE  evening — it  was  the  i4th  of  December — I  was  return- 
ing to  the  Badiola  with  Federico,  when  we  perceived  before 
us,  in  the  avenue,  a  man  whom  we  recognized  to  be  Gio- 
vanni di  Scordio. 

"  Giovanni  !  "  cried  my  brother. 

The  old  man  stopped.     We  approached. 

"  Good  evening,  Giovanni.     What  brings  you  here  ?  " 

The  old  man  smiled,  timid,  embarrassed,  as  if  we  had 
detected  him  doing  wrong. 

' '  I  came, ' '  he  stammered,  ' '  I  came  to  ask  about  my 
godson." 

He  was  very  much  ashamed.  One  would  have  thought 
that  he  was  asking  pardon  for  his  temerity. 

"  You  wish  to  see  him  ?  "  asked  Federico,  in  a  low  voice, 
certain  of  having  understood  the  sweet  and  sad  sentiment 
which  stirred  the  heart  of  the  deserted  grandfather, 

"  No,  no — I  only  came  to  ask " 

"  Don't  you  wish  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  No — yes —  It  would  perhaps  be  too  much  trouble 
—just  now." 

"  Come,"  said  Federico,  taking  him  by  the  hand  like  a 
child.  "  Come  and  see  him." 

We  entered.     We  went  up  to  the  nursery. 

My  mother  was  there.  She  smiled  kindly  at  Giovanni, 
and  cautioned  us  to  make  no  noise. 

"  He  is  asleep,"  she  said. 


286  THE    INTRUDER. 

And,  turning  toward  me,  she  added  with  uneasiness  : 

"  He  coughed  a  little  to-day." 

The  news  agitated  me,  and  my  agitation  was  so  manifest 
that  my  mother  thought  she  reassured  me  by  adding : 

"  Only  very  little,  you  know — a  mere  nothing." 

Already  Federico  and  the  old  man  had  approached  the 
cradle,  and  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  they  looked  at  the 
little  sleeper.  The  old  man  had  bent  over,  and  around 
him  there  was  no  whiteness  as  pure  as  the  whiteness  of 
his  hair. 

"  Kiss  him,"  whispered  Federico. 

He  rose,  looked  at  my  mother  and  at  me  with  an 
indefinite  look ;  then  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  mouth, 
over  his  chin,  which  had  not  been  freshly  shaven. 

And  in  a  low  tone  he  said  to  my  brother,  with  whom  he 
was  less  ceremonious : 

"  If  I  kiss  him  my  beard  will  prick  him,  and  certainly 
awaken  him." 

My  brother,  who  saw  that  the  poor,  forsaken  old  man  was 
dying  with  desire  to  kiss  the  child,  encouraged  him  with  a 
gesture.  And  then  that  great  hoary  head  bent  over  the 
cradle,  softly,  softly,  softly. 


XLI. 

WHEN  my  mother  and  I  were  alone  in  the  room,  in  front 
of  the  cradle  in  which  Raymond  still  slept  with  the  kiss  on 
his  forehead,  she  said  to  me,  very  much  moved  *. 

"  Poor  old  man  !  Do  you  know  that  he  comes  here 
almost  every  evening  ?  He  hides  himself  in  the  garden. 
I  heard  it  from  Pietro,  who  has  seen  him  wandering  around 
the  house.  The  day  of  the  baptism  he  had  the  window  'of 
this  room  pointed  out  to  him,  doubtless  so  that  he  might 
come  and  look  at  it.  Poor  old  man  !  How  sorry  I  am 
for  him!" 

I  listened  to  Raymond's  breathing.  It  did  not  seem  to 
me  to  be  changed.  His  slumber  was  tranquil. 

I  said  :  "  So  he  coughed  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little,  Tullio.  But  do  not  let  that  worry 
you." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  taken  cold  ?  " 

"  It  seems  impossible  that  he  should  have  taken  cold, 
with  so  many  precautions." 

A  flash  passed  through  my  brain.  A  great  internal  trem- 
bling assailed  me  suddenly.  All  at  once  my  mother's 
presence  became  insupportable.  I  was  agitated,  I  was  dis- 
countenanced, I  feared  I  would  betray  myself.  The  inner 
idea  threw  out  such  flashes  that  fear  overtook  me  :  "  Some- 
thing must  show  on  my  face."  This  fear  was  vain;  but  I 
could  not  command  myself.  I  made  a  step  forward  and 
bent  over  the  cradle. 


288  THE    INTRUDER. 

My  mother  perceived  something ;  but  she  interpreted  it 
in  my  favor,  for  she  added  : 

"  How  frightened  you  are  !  Don't  you  hear  how  calm  his 
breathing  is  ?  Don't  you  see  how  peaceful  his  sleep  is  ?" 

But,  in  spite  of  the  words  she  spoke,  there  was  anxiety 
in  her  voice,  and  she  did  not  succeed  in  hiding  her  ap- 
prehension from  me. 

"  You  are  right,  it  is  nothing,"  I  answered,  doing  myself 
violence.  "  Do  you  remain  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  until  Anna  returns." 

I  left  the  room.  I  went  to  Juliana.  She  expected  me. 
All  was  ready  for  her  dinner,  which  I  habitually  took  with 
her  so  that  the  invalid's  meal  should  be  less  sad  and  that 
my  example  and  my  pleading  should  persuade  her  to  eat. 
In  my  acts,  in  my  words,  I  showed  myself  unusually  exalted. 
I  was  a  prey  to  a  strange  superexcitation  of  which  I  had 
an  exact  consciousness ;  but,  although  capable  of  watching 
myself,  I  was  not  able  to  moderate  it.  Contrary  to  my 
habit,  I  drank  two  or  three  glasses  of  the  wine  prescribed 
for  Juliana.  I  also  wished  her  to  take  more  than  usual. 

"  You  feel  a  little  better,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  If  you  are  good  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  get  up  for 
Christmas — in  ten  days  more.  You  can  regain  your  strength 
in  ten  days,  if  you  want  to.  Drink  a  little  more,  Juliana." 

She  looked  at  me  with  surprise  mingled  with  curiosity, 
making  an  effort  to  give  me  her  entire  attention.  Per- 
haps she  was  already  tired,  perhaps  her  eyelids  began  to  feel 
heavy.  The  raised  position  was  again  beginning  to  cause 
in  her  the  symptoms  of  cerebral  anemia.  She  moistened 
her  lips  with  the  wine  that  I  handed  her. 

"Tell  me,"  I  continued,  "where  would  you  like  to 
pass  your  convalescence  ?  ' ' 


THE    INTRUDER.  289 

She  smiled  feebly. 

"  At  the  seaside  ?  Shall  I  write  to  Aric  to  find  us  a 
villa  ?  If  only  the  Ginosa  villa  were  free !  Do  you 
remember  it  ?  " 

She  smiled  feebly  again. 

"  You  are  tired  ?     Perhaps  my  voice  tires  you  ?  " 

I  perceived  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  losing  conscious- 
ness. I  supported  her,  I  removed  the  pillows  that  raised 
her,  and  put  her  at  her  ease  by  lowering  her  head ;  helped 
her  with  the  usual  remedies.  Very  soon  she  seemed  to 
come  to,  for  she  murmured,  as  if  in  a  dream : 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  us  go." 

19 


XLII. 

A  STRANGE  anxiety  harassed  me.  Sometimes  it  was 
like  a  sort  of  keen  pleasure,  a  kind  of  confused  joy; 
sometimes  it  was  like  an  exasperating  impatience  and  un- 
bearable frenzy ;  sometimes  it  was  a  desire  to  see  some  one, 
to  search  for  some  one,  to  speak,  to  unbosom  myself.  At 
times  it  was  a  desire  for  solitude,  a  desire  to  run  and  shut 
myself  up  in  some  place  where  I  would  be  alone  with  my- 
self, where  I  could  look  into  my  soul  clearly,  where  I 
could  follow  the  development  of  my  idea,  examine  and 
study  the  details  of  the  approaching  event,  make  my  prepa- 
rations. These  divers  and  extraordinary  impulses,  and  still 
other  impulses,  innumerable,  indefinable,  inexplicable,  suc- 
ceeded each  other  impetuously  in  my  soul  with  an  extraor- 
dinary acceleration  of  my  inner  life. 

The  flash  that  had  traversed  my  brain,  that  ray  of  sinister 
light,  seemed  all  at  once  to  have  illuminated  a  pre-existent 
state  of  consciousness,  seemed  to  have  awakened  a  deep 
layer  of  my  memory.  I  felt  that  it  was  a  recollection.  But, 
despite  several  efforts  that  I  made,  I  could  not  recover  the 
origin  of  this  recollection  or  discover  its  nature.  Without 
doubt  /  remembered.  Was  it  the  remembrance  of  some- 
thing read  long  ago  ?  Had  I  found  in  some  book  the 
description  of  a  similar  case  ?  Or  had  some  one  told  me 
the  particulars  as  having  occurred  in  actual  life  ?  Or  was 
that  sensation  of  remembrance  illusory;  was  it  only  the 
effect  of  a  mysterious  association  of  ideas  ?  What  is  cer- 


THE    INTRUDER.  2QI 

tain  is,  that  the  means,  it  seemed  to  me,  had  been  sug- 
gested to  me  by  some  strange  person.  It  seemed  to  me 
that,  all  at  once,  some  one  had  relieved  me  of  all  my  per- 
plexities by  saying  :  "  This  is  how  it  must  be  done — what  the 
other  did  in  your  place"  Who  was  that  other?  I  must 
certainly  have  known  him  in  some  manner.  But,  in  spite 
of  all  my  efforts,  T  could  not  separate  him  from  myself, 
render  him  objective.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  define 
with  exactness  the  singular  state  of  consciousness  in  which 
I  found  myself.  I  had  the  complete  notion  of  a  fact  in  all 
the  circumstances  of  its  development ;  in  other  words,  I 
had  the  notion  of  a  series  of  acts  by  which  a  man  had  suc- 
ceeded in  putting  a  certain  project  in  execution.  But  that 
man,  my  predecessor,  was  unknown  to  me,  and  I  could  not 
associate  with  that  notion  the  images  relative  thereto  with- 
out putting  myself  in  that  man's  place.  It  was  therefore  I 
whom  I  saw  accomplishing  the  special  acts  already  accom- 
plished by  another,  imitating  the  conduct  assumed  by 
another  in  a  case  similar  to  mine.  The  feeling  of  the 
initial  spontaneity  was  lacking. 

When  I  left  Juliana's  room,  I  passed  a  few  minutes  in 
uncertitude,  wandering  aimlessly  along  the  corridors.  I 
met  no  one.  I  walked  toward  the  nursery ;  I  listened  at 
the  door ;  I  heard  my  mother  speaking  in  a  low  voice ;  I 
went  away. 

Perhaps  she  had  not  left  the  cradle  ?  Had  the  infant 
had  a  more  serious  attack  of  coughing  ?  I  well  knew  the 
bronchial  catarrh  to  which  new-born  babes  are  subject,  that 
terrible  malady,  with  its  insidious  progress.  I  remembered 
the  danger  that  Maria  had  run  in  her  third  month ;  I 
remembered  all  the  symptoms.  At  the  beginning  Maria 
had  sneezed  several  times,  coughed  lightly ;  she  had  shown 
a  strong  tendency  to  sleep.  "  Who  knows  ?"  I  thought. 


292  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  The  good  God  may  perhaps  intervene  in  time,  and  I  may 
be  saved."  I  retraced  my  steps;  I  listened  again;  I 
heard  my  mother's  voice  again;  I  entered. 

"  Well,  how  is  Raymond  ?  "  I  asked,  without  dissimulat- 
ing my  emotion. 

"  He  is  doing  well.  He  is  quiet;  he  has  not  coughed 
again;  his  breathing  is  regular  and  temperature  normal. 
Look  !  he  has  taken  the  breast." 

In  fact,  my  mother  seemed  to  be  reassured,  tranquillized. 

Anna,  seated  on  the  bed,  was  nursing  the  infant,  who 
drank  eagerly,  and,  at  times,  during  the  aspiration,  his  lips 
made  a  slight  noise.  Anna's  face  was  bent  down,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  carpet,  motionless  as  bronze. 

The  little  flickering  lamp-flame  threw  reflections  and 
shadows  on  her  red  petticoat. 

"Is  it  not  too  warm  here?"  I  said,  because  I  felt  a 
slight  suffocation. 

The  room  really  was  very  hot.  In  a  corner,  over  a  red- 
hot  fire,  some  swaddling-clothes  had  been  placed  to  warm. 
The  hissing  of  boiling  water  could  also  be  heard.  From 
time  to  time  the  windows  were  rattled  by  the  whistling, 
howling  wind. 

"Do  you  hear  how  furious  the  wind  is?"  murmured 
my  mother. 

I  became  inattentive  to  all  other  sounds.  I  listened  to 
the  wind  with  anxious  interest.  Several  shudders  ran 
through  my  bones,  as  if  a  stream  of  cold  had  penetrated 
me.  I  walked  toward  the  window.  On  opening  the  inner 
shutters  my  fingers  trembled.  I  leaned  my  forehead 
against  the  icy  glass  and  looked  out,  but  the  mist  suddenly 
produced  by  my  breath  prevented  my  seeing  anything.  I 
raised  my  eyes,  and  saw  through  the  upper  window  the 
scintillation  of  the  starry  sky. 


THE    INTRUDER.  293 

"  It  is  a  clear  night,"  I  said,  leaving  the  window. 

Within  me  I  had  a  vision  of  the  homicidal  night,  clear 
as  a  diamond,  while  my  eyes  wandered  toward  Raymond, 
who  was  still  feeding. 

"  Has  Juliana  eaten  anything  this  evening  ?  "  asked  my 
mother  of  me  in  an  affectionate  tone. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  rather  harshly. 

And  I  thought : 

"This  whole  evening  you  have  not  found  a  minute's 
time  to  go  and  see  her !  It  is  not  the  first  time  that  you 
neglect  her.  You  have  given  your  heart  to  Raymond." 


XLIII. 

THE  following  morning  Dr.  Jemma  examined  the  child 
and  declared  that  he  was  perfectly  healthy.  He  attached 
no  importance  whatever  to  the  cough  noticed  by  my 
mother.  Then,  smiling  at  the  excess  of  cares  and  anxiety, 
he  recommended  caution  during  the  very  cold  days,  advised 
extreme  prudence  in  washing  and  bathing. 

I  was  present  while  he  spoke  of  those  things  before  Juli- 
ana, and  two  or  three  times  my  eyes  met  hers,  in  fugitive 
flashes. 

So,  then,  Providence  would  not  come  to  my  aid.  I  must 
act ;  I  must  profit  by  an  opportune  moment,  hasten  the 
event.  I  made  up  my  mind.  I  waited  for  the  evening  to 
commit  the  crime  resolved  upon. 

I  gathered  together  all  that  yet  remained  of  my  energy ; 
I  sharpened  my  perspicacity ;  I  studied  all  my  words,  all 
my  acts.  I  said  nothing,  I  did  nothing  that  could  awaken 
suspicion,  provoke  surprise.  My  circumspection  did  not 
relax  for  a  second.  Not  for  a  moment  did  I  feel  a  senti- 
mental weakness.  My  inner  sensibility  was  compressed, 
suffocated,  and  my  mind  concentrated  every  useful  faculty 
to  prepare  the  way  for  the  solution  of  a  material  problem 
that  was  expressed  as  follows  :  to  succeed  at  evening,  to 
remain  alone  with  the  intruder  for  several  minutes,  under 
certain  precise  conditions  of  security. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  I  entered  the  nursery  several 
times.  Anna  was  always  at  he  post,  an  impassable  guar- 
dian. If  I  addressed  a  few  questions  to  her,  she  answered 


THE    INTRUDER.  295 

in  monosyllables.      Her   voice  was  guttural,   of    singular 
quality.     Her  silence  and  inertia  irritated  me. 

As  a  rule,  she  did  not  go  out  except  at  meal-time ;  and 
then,  as  a  rule,  she  was  replaced  by  my  mother  or  by  Miss 
Edith,  or  by  Cristina,  or  by  some  other  of  the  maid-ser- 
vants. In  the  last  case  I  could  easily  rid  myself  of  the 
witness  by  giving  an  order.  But  there  always  remained  the 
danger  that  some  one  would  unexpectedly  come  at  the  criti- 
cal moment.  Moreover,  I  was  at  the  mercy  of  chance, 
since  I  was  not  able  to  select  the  substitute  myself.  That 
evening,  as  on  several  evenings  past,  it  would  probably  be 
my  mother.  However,  it  seemed  to  me  impossible  to 
indefinitely  prolong  my  espionage  and  anguish,  to  keep 
watch  endlessly,  to  live  in  this  continual  expectation  of  the 
fatal  hour. 

While  I  was  in  this  perplexity  Miss  Edith  entered  with 
Maria  and  Natalia :  two  little  graces  animated  by  a  run  in 
the  open  air,  enveloped  in  their  sable  fur  mantles,  with 
their  hoods  over  their  heads,  gloved  hands,  and  cheeks  rosy 
from  the  cold.  When  they  perceived  me,  they  came  rush- 
ing towards  me  joyously,  and  for  several  minutes  the  room 
was  full  of  their  chatter. 

"The  mountaineers  have  come,"  cried  Maria.  "The 
nine  days'  prayers  begin  this  evening  in  the  chapel.  If 
you  saw  the  manger  that  Pietro  has  made  !  You  know, 
grandmother  has  promised  us  a  Christmas-tree.  Didn't  she, 
Miss  Edith  ?  We  must  put  it  in  mamma's  room.  Mamma 
will  be  well  by  Christmas,  won't  she  ?  Oh !  do  try  and 
make  her  well !  " 

Natalia  had  stopped  to  look  at  Raymond,  and,  from  time 
to  time,  she  laughingly  made  a  face  at  the  infant,  who 
ceaselessly  moved  his  limbs  as  if  to  free  himself  from  his 
bandages.  A  caprice  seized  her : 


296  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  I  want  to  take  him  in  my  arms  !  " 

She  noisily  insisted  on  having  him.  She  put  forth  all 
her  strength  to  carry  her  burden,  and  her  face  grew  serious 
as  if  she  were  playing  at  being  mother  with  her  doll. 

"  My  turn  now  !  "  cried  Maria. 

The  odious  little  brother  passed  from  one  to  the  other 
without  crying.  But  suddenly,  while  Maria  walked  around 
with  him  under  the  watchful  eyes  of  Miss  Edith,  he  lost 
his  equilibrium  and  was  about  to  slip  from  the  hands  that 
held  him.  Edith  caught  him,  took  him,  gave  him  back  to 
the  nurse,  who  seemed  profoundly  absorbed,  far  from  all 
persons  and  surrounding  things. 

Following  my  secret  thought,  I  said : 

"  So  it's  to-night  that  the  nine  days'  prayers  begin?" 

"Yes,  to-night." 

I  looked  at  Anna,  who  seemed  startled  out  of  her  torpor, 
and  paid  unusual  attention  to  the  conversation. 

"  How  many  mountaineers  came  ?  " 

"  Five,"  answered  Maria,  who  appeared  to  be  minutely 
informed  about  everything.  "  Two  bagpipes,  two  flageolets, 
and  one  fife." 

"  They  come  from  the  mountains,"  I  said,  turning  toward 
Anna.  "  Perhaps  one  of  them  is  from  Montegorgo." 

The  nurse's  eyes  had  lost  their  enamel-like  hardness,  had 
become  animated,  had  acquired  a  humid  and  sad  lustre. 
Her  entire  face  visibly  expressed  extraordinary  emotion. 
Then  I  understood  that  she  was  suffering,  and  that  her 
malady  was  homesickness. 


XLIV. 

EVENING  approached.  I  went  down  to  the  chapel,  and 
saw  the  preparations  for  the  nine  days'  prayers :  the  man- 
ger, the  flowers,  the  candles  of  virgin  wax.  I  went  out 
without  knowing  why;  I  looked  up  at  the  window  of  Ray- 
mond's room.  I  walked  up  and  down  the  lawn  with  rapid 
steps  in  the  hope  of  overcoming  my  convulsive  trembling, 
the  acute  chill  that  penetrated  my  bones,  the  spasm  that 
contracted  my  empty  stomach. 

It  was  a  freezingly  cold  evening.  A  greenish  lividity 
spread  over  the  distant  horizon,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley,  where  flowed  the  tortuous  Assoro.  The  river  glist- 
ened, solitary. 

A  sudden  fright  seized  me.     I  thought :  "  Am  I  afraid?  " 

It  seemed  to  me  that  an  invisible  witness  was  watching 
my  soul.  I  felt  the  same  uneasiness  that  is  caused  at  times 
by  a  fixed  and  magnetic  look.  I  thought :  "  Am  I  afraid? 
Of  what  ?  Of  accomplishing  the  act,  or  of  being  dis- 
covered ? ' ' 

I  was  frightened  by  the  great  trees,  by  the  immensity  of 
the  sky,  at  the  reflections  of  the  Assoro,  at  all  the  confused 
voices  of  the  fields.  The  Angelus  sounded.  I  re-entered, 
or,  rather,  I  rushed  in,  as  if  some  one  were  at  my  heels. 

I  met  my  mother  in  the  corridor,  which  had  not  yet  been 
lighted. 

"  Where  were  you,  Tullio  ?  " 

"  I  was  out.     I  took  a  walk.'* 


298  THE    INTRUDER. 

"  Juliana  is  waiting  for  you." 

"  When  do  the  nine  days'  prayers  begin  ?  " 

"At  six  o'clock." 

It  was  a  quarter-past  five.  I  had  before  me  three-quar- 
ters of  an  hour.  I  must  pay  attention. 

"  I  will  go  to  her,  mother." 

After  a  few  steps  I  called  her  back. 

"  Has  not  Federico  returned  ?  " 

"No." 

I  went  up  to  Juliana's  room.  She  was  waiting  for  me. 
Cristina  was  laying  the  small  table. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  long?"  asked  the  poor  in- 
valid, with  a  shade  of  reproach  in  her  voice. 

"  I  was  downstairs  with  Maria  and  Natalia.  I  went  to 
the  chapel." 

"  Yes,  to-night  the  nine  days'  prayers  begin,"  she  mur- 
mured sadly,  with  a  discouraged  air. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  hear  the  music  here?  " 

She  remained  pensive  for  several  minutes.  I  thought 
she  looked  very  sad,  one  of  those  languishing  sadnesses 
which  indicate  that  the  heart  is  swollen  with  tears,  that  the 
eyes  desire  to  weep. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  my  first  Christmas  at  the  Badiola. 
Do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

She  was  full  of  affection ;  and  she  solicited  my  tender- 
ness, abandoned  herself  to  me  to  be  caressed,  that  I  might 
soothe  her  heart  and  drink  her  tears.  But  I  thought  anxi- 
ously :  "  I  must  take  care  not  to  favor  this  disposition  and 
permit  myself  to  be  circumvented.  Time  passes.  If  I 
give  way,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  leave  her.  If  she  cries,  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  go  away.  I  must  control  myself. 
Time  is  passing.  Who  will  stay  with  Raymond?  Surely 


THE   INTRUDER.  299 

it  will  not  be  my  mother.  It  will  be  the  nurse,  no  doubt. 
All  the  others  will  be  in  the  chapel.  I  will  keep  Cristina 
here.  There  will  not  be  the  slightest  danger.  The  occa- 
sion is  as  favorable  as  it  can  be.  In  twenty  minutes  I  must 
be  free." 

I  avoided  exciting  the  invalid ;  I  feigned  not  to  under- 
stand her ;  I  did  not  reply  to  her  effusions  ;  I  sought  to  turn 
her  attention  to  material  things.  I  acted  in  such  a  manner 
that  Cristina  did  not  leave  us  alone  as  on  other  evenings. 
I  busied  myself  with  the  dinner  with  excessive  zeal. 

"  Why  don't  you  dine  with  me  this  evening  ?  "  she  asked 
me. 

"  I  can't  eat  anything  just  now;  I  don't  feel  very  well. 
You  eat  a  little,  please." 

In  spite  of  my  efforts,  I  could  not  succeed  in  entirely  dis- 
simulating the  anxiety  that  devoured  me.  Several  times 
she  looked  at  me,  with  the  manifest  intention  of  penetrat- 
ing my  thoughts.  Then,  all  at  once,  she  became  gloomy, 
taciturn.  She  scarcely  touched  anything,  scarcely  mois- 
tened her  lips.  Then  I  summoned  all  my  courage,  in  order 
to  withdraw.  I  feigned  having  heard  the  roll  of  a  car- 
riage. I  listened.  I  said  : 

"  No  doubt  Federico  has  returned.  I  must  see  him  at 
once.  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  go  downstairs  a  moment  ? 
Cristina  will  stay  with  you." 

I  saw  her  face  change,  as  if  she  was  about  to  burst  into 
sobs.  But  without  waiting  for  her  consent,  I  left  hastily ; 
and  I  took  care  to  order  Cristina  to  remain  until  my 
return. 

Once  outside,  I  was  compelled  to  stop  to  conquer  the 
suffocation  of  anguish.  I  thought :  "  If  I  cannot  manage  to 
control  my  nervousness  all  is  lost."  I  listened  intently,  but 
heard  nothing  except  the  murmur  of  my  arteries.  I  walked 


300  THE    INTRUDER. 

along  the  corridor  as  far  as  the  stairway  without  meeting  any 
one.  The  house  was  silent.  I  thought :  "  They  are  all  in 
the  chapel  already,  even  the  servants.  There  is  nothing  to 
fear."  I  waited  another  two  or  three  minutes,  to  recover 
myself.  Vague  ideas  passed  through  my  head,  insignificant, 
foreign  to  the  deed  I  was  about  to  perform.  I  mechani- 
cally counted  the  rails  of  the  banister. 

"  It  is  surely  Anna  who  is  with  him.  Raymond's  room 
is  not  far  from  the  chapel.  The  music  will  proclaim  the 
beginning  of  the  nine  days'  prayer." 

I  walked  toward  the  door.  As  I  reached  it  I  heard  the 
prelude  of  the  bagpipes.  I  entered  without  hesitation.  I 
had  guessed  correctly. 

Anna  was  standing  near  her  chair,  in  so  eager  an  attitude 
that  I  immediately  guessed  that  she  had  sprung  to  her  feet 
on  hearing  the  bagpipes  of  her  mountains,  the  prelude  of 
the  ancient  pastoral. 

"  Is  he  asleep  ?"  I  asked. 

She  nodded  her  head. 

The  sounds  continued,  muffled  by  the  distance,  soft  as 
in  a  dream,  rather  shrill,  sustained,  prolonged.  The  clear 
tones  of  the  flageolets  modulated  the  simple  and  unfor- 
gettable melody  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  pipes. 

"  You  may  go,  too,"  I  said  to  her.  "  I  will  stay  here. 
When  did  he  fall  asleep  ?" 

"Just  now." 

"  You  can  go." 

Her  eyes  sparkled. 

"I  can  go?" 

"Yes,  I  will  stay." 

I  opened  the  door  for  her  myself  and  closed  it  behind 
her.  I  ran  toward  the  cradle  on  tiptoe;  I  bent  over  to 
have  a  better  view.  The  Innocent  was  asleep  in  his  swad- 


THE   INTRUDER.  30! 

dling-clothes,  his  little  fists  closed  over  his  thumbs. 
Through  the  tissue  of  his  eyelids  the  iris  of  his  gray  eyes 
was  visible.  But  I  felt  no  blind  burst  of  hate  or  anger 
rise  from  the  depth  of  my  soul.  My  aversion  toward 
him  was  less  impetuous  than  in  the  past.  I  no  longer  felt 
that  impulse  which  more  than  once  had  run  through  me  to 
the  tips  of  my  hands,  and  made  them  ready  for  any  criminal 
violence,  no  matter  what.  I  solely  obeyed  the  impulse  of 
a  cold  and  lucid  will ;  I  had  a  perfect  consciousness  of  my 
actions. 

I  returned  to  the  door,  I  opened  it,  assured  myself  that 
the  corridor  was  deserted.  I  ran  to  the  window.  I 
recalled  what  I  had  heard  my  mother  say ;  the  suspicion 
crossed  my  mind  that  Giovanni  di  Scordio  might  be  below 
on  the  lawn.  I  opened  the  window  with  infinite  precau- 
tions. A  blast  of  icy  air  came  in.  I  bent  over  the  sill. 
I  saw  no  one ;  I  heard  only  the  musical  undulations  of  the 
nine  days'  prayers.  I  drew  back,  approached  the  cradle;  I 
conquered  my  repugnance  by  a  violent  effort,  repressed  my 
anguish.  I  took  the  infant  up  very  gently;  I  held  him 
away  from  my  heart,  that  beat  tumultuously ;  I  bore  him 
to  the  window ;  I  exposed  him  to  the  air  that  was  to  make 
him  perish. 

I  did  not  for  a  moment  lose  my  presence  of  mind;  not 
one  of  my  senses  was  dulled.  I  saw  the  stars  of  the  sky, 
scintillating  as  if,  in  the  superior  regions,  a  blast  of  wind 
had  shaken  them;  I  saw  the  movements,  illusory  but  terri- 
fying, which  the  flickering  lamp-light  threw  among  the 
folds  of  the  curtains ;  I  distinctly  heard  the  refrain  of  the 
pastorale,  the  distant  barking  of  a  dog.  A  shudder  on  the 
part  of  the  infant  made  me  start.  He  awoke. 

I  thought :  "  Now  he  is  going  to  cry.  How  long  a  time 
has  passed  ?  A  minute,  perhaps,  or  not  even  a  minute. 


362  THE   INTRUDER* 

Will  so  short  an  impression  suffice  to  cause  his  death  ? 
Has  he  received  his  death-blow  ?"  The  infant  waved  his 
arms,  twisted  his  mouth,  opened  it.  It  was  a  little  time 
before  he  began  to  wail,  which  seemed  to  me  changed, 
more  pitiful,  more  quivering ;  but  it  was  perhaps  because  it 
did  not  resound  in  the  same  medium  as  usual,  and  because 
I  had  always  heard  him  in  a  closed  place.  That  pitiful, 
quivering  wail  filled  me  with  fright,  caused  me  a  sudden 
fright.  I  ran  to  the  cradle,  in  which  I  replaced  the  child. 
I  returned  to  close  the  window,  but  before  closing  it  I  bent 
over  the  sill  and  peered  out  into  the  dark.  I  saw  nothing 
but  the  stars.  I  closed  the  window.  Seized  as  I  was  by 
terror,  I  avoided  making  any  noise.  Behind  me,  the 
infant  cried,  cried  louder.  "  Am  I  saved  ?  "  I  ran  to  the 
door,  I  looked  into  the  corridor,  I  listened.  The  corridor 
was  deserted;  all  that  could  be  heard  was  the  slow  un- 
dulation of  the  music. 

"  So  I  am  saved.  Who  could  have  seen  me  ?"  Then 
I  thought  again  of  Giovanni  di  Scordio,  and,  looking  at  the 
window,  I  again  felt  anxiety.  "  But  no,  there  was  no  one 
below.  I  looked  twice."  I  went  back  to  the  cradle,  ar- 
ranged the  infant's  body,  covered  him  carefully,  assured 
myself  that  everything  was  in  its  place.  Contact  with  him 
made  me  feel  an  unconquerable  repugnance.  He  cried, 
cried.  What  could  I  do  to  quiet  him  ?  I  waited. 

But  the  continual  wailing  in  that  large,  solitary  room, 
that  inarticulate  plaint  of  the  ignorant  victim,  rent  me  so 
atrociously  that,  incapable  of  longer  resistance,  I  arose  in 
order  to  relieve  my  torture.  I  walked  out  into  the  corri- 
dor ;  I  half -closed  the  door  behind  me  ;  I  remained  outside 
on  the  watch.  The  child's  voice  barely  reached  me,  ming- 
ling with  the  slow  undulation  of  the  music.  The  sounds 
continued,  muffled  by  the  distance,  soft  as  in  a  dream, 


THE    INTRUDER.  303 

somewhat  shrill,  sustained,  prolonged.  The  clear  tones  of 
the  flageolets  modulated  the  simple  melody  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  the  pipes.  The  pastorale  filled  the  large, 
peaceful  house,  reached  perhaps  even  the  most  distant 
rooms.  Did  Juliana  hear  it  ?  What  did  Juliana  think, 
what  did  she  feel  ?  Was  she  crying  ? 

I  knew  not  why,  but  there  entered  into  my  soul  this  cer- 
titude :  "  She  is  crying."  And  the  certitude  gave  birth  to 
an  intense  vision  that  engendered  a  real  and  profound 
sensation.  The  thoughts  and  visions  that  passed  through 
my  brain  were  incoherent,  fragmentary,  absurd.  The  fear 
of  madness  invaded  me.  I  asked  myself:  "  How  much 
time  has  passed  ?  "  And  I  noticed  that  I  had  entirely  lost 
all  notion  of  time. 

The  music  ceased.  I  thought:  "The  prayers  are  over. 
Anna  will  come  upstairs.  My  mother  will  come  perhaps. 
Raymond  is  no  longer  crying  !  "  I  re-entered  the  room  ;  I 
looked  about  me  to  assure  myself  that  there  remained  no 
trace  of  my  crime.  I  approached  the  cradle,  not  without 
a  vague  fear  of  finding  the  child  lifeless.  He  was  sleep- 
ing, lying  on  his  back,  his  little  fists  closed  over  his  thumbs. 
"  He  is  asleep  !  It  is  unbelievable.  One  would  think 
nothing  had  happened."  What  I  had  done  began  to 
acquire  the  unreality  of  a  dream.  I  experienced  a  sudden 
blank  of  thoughts,  an  empty  interval  during  those  moments 
of  waiting.  When  I  heard  the  nurse's  heavy  step  in  the 
corridor,  I  went  forward  to  meet  her.  My  mother  was  not 
with  her.  I  said  to  her,  without  looking  in  her  face  : 

"  He  is  still  asleep." 

And  I  rapidly  withdrew.     I  was  saved  ! 


XLV. 

FROM  that  moment  my  mind  was  dazed  by  a  sort  of 
stupid  inertia,  perhaps  because  I  was  exhausted,  incapable 
of  a  new  effort.  My  consciousness  lost  its  terrible  lucid- 
ity, my  attention  became  relaxed,  my  curiosity  was  no  longer 
equal  to  the  importance  of  the  events  that  were  developing. 
In  fact,  my  recollections  were  confused,  scarce,  composed 
of  indistinct  images. 

In  the  evening  I  returned  to  the  alcove.  I  saw  Juliana 
again ;  I  remained  for  some  time  at  her  bedside.  I  felt 
too  fatigued  to  speak.  Looking  straight  into  her  eyes,  I 
asked  her : 

"  Have  you  been  crying  ?  " 

She  answered : 

"No." 

But  she  was  sadder  than  before.  She  had  become  white 
as  her  night-dress.  I  asked  her : 

'  'What  ails  you?" 

She  answered : 

"Nothing.     And  you?" 

"  I  do  not  feel  well.     I  have  a  headache  !  " 

An  immense  lassitude  overwhelmed  me;  every  limb 
weighed  me  down.  I  leaned  my  head  on  a  corner  of  the 
pillow;  I  remained  several  minutes  in  that  position,  be- 
neath the  weight  of  an  indefinable  sorrow.  I  felt  a  shock 
on  hearing  Juliana's  voice  saying  : 

"  You  are  hiding  something  from  me." 


THE    INTRUDER.  305 

"No,  no.     Why?" 

"  Because  I  feel  that  you  are  hiding  something  from 
me." 

"  No,  no ;  you  are  mistaken." 

"  I  am  mistaken." 

She  relapsed  into  silence.  I  leaned  my  head  again  on 
the  corner  of  the  pillow.  Several  minutes  later  she  said  to 
me  suddenly  : 

"  You  go  and  see  him  often." 

I  rose  to  look  at  her,  seized  by  fear. 

"  You  go  to  see  him  voluntarily,"  she  added.  "  I  know 
it.  To-day  .  .  ." 

"Well?" 

"That  frightens  me  and  makes  me  anxious.  I  know 
you.  You  torment  yourself ;  you  go  there  to  torment  your- 
self, to  rack  your  heart.  I  know  you.  I  am  afraid.  No, 
no,  you  are  not  resigned;  you  cannot  be  resigned.  Do 
not  deceive  me,  Tullio.  This  evening,  just  now,  you  were 
there.  .  .  ." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"I  know  it;  I /a?/ it." 

My  blood  froze. 

"  Do  you  want  my  mother  to  suspect  ?  Do  you  want  her 
to  notice  my  aversion  ?  " 

We  spoke  in  low  tones.  She,  too,  had  an  absent-minded 
air,  And  I  thought :  "  There  is  my  mother;  she  is  coming, 
all  upset,  crying :  '  Raymond  is  dying  ! '  " 

It  was  Maria  and  Natalia  who  entered  with  Miss  Edith. 
The  alcove  was  enlivened  by  their  chatter.  They  spoke 
of  the  chapel,  of  the  manger,  of  the  candles,  the  bagpipes, 
giving  a  thousand  details. 

I  left  Juliana  to  go  back  to  my  room,  under  the  pretext 
of  a  headache. 
20 


306  THE    INTRUDER. 

When  I  was  on  my  bed  fatigue  overcame  me  almost 
immediately.  I  slept  profoundly  for  hours. 

Daylight  found  me  calm,  in  a  state  of  strange  indiffer- 
ence, inexplicable  indifference.  Nobody  had  come  to 
interrupt  my  sleep;  consequently  nothing  extraordinary 
had  happened.  The  events  of  the  evening  before  appeared 
to  me  unreal  and  very  distant.  I  felt  an  enormous  blank 
between  my  actual  and  my  former  being,  between  what  I 
was  and  what  I  had  been.  There  was  a  discontinuity 
between  the  past  and  present  periods  of  my  psychical 
life. 

And  I  did  not  make  the  slightest  effort  to  recover  myself, 
to  understand  the  strange  phenomenon.  I  felt  a  repug- 
nance for  every  kind  of  activity ;  I  sought  to  keep  myself 
in  that  sort  of  factitious  apathy  which  covered  the  obscure 
development  of  all  my  preceding  agitations;  I  avoided 
examining  myself,  in  order  not  to  awaken  things  that 
appeared  dead,  that  seemed  no  longer  to  belong  to  my 
actual  existence.  I  resembled  those  invalids  who,  having 
lost  all  sensibility  in  half  of  their  body,  imagine  they 
have  a  corpse  beside  them. 

But  Federico  came  and  knocked  at  my  door.  What 
news  did  he  bring  ?  His  presence  gave  me  a  shock. 

"We  did  not  see  one  another  yesterday  evening,"  he 
said.  "  I  came  back  rather  late.  How  do  you  feel  ?  " 

"Neither  well  nor  ill." 

"  You  had  a  headache,  they  told  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  that  is  why  I  went  to  bed  early." 

"  Ah  !  when  shall  we  see  the  end  of  all  our  anxieties  ? 
You  are  not  well,  Juliana  is  still  confined  to  her  bed,  and 
now  mother  is  very  much  frightened  because  Raymond 
coughed  during  the  night." 

"He  coughed?" 


THE   INTRUDER.  307 

"Yes.  No  doubt  it  is  only  a  slight  cold;  but  mother 
exaggerates,  as  usual." 

"Has  the  doctor  been  ?" 

"  Not  yet.     But  you  seem  more  disturbed  than  mother." 

"  You  know  where  infants  are  concerned  fear  is  justifi- 
able. A  trifle  suffices  .  .  ." 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  limpid,  blue  eyes,  and  I  feared 
to  meet  them. 

When  he  had  gone  I  leaped  from  my  bed.  "  So,  the 
effects  commence,"  I  thought.  "  So,  there  is  no  more  doubt 
about  it.  How  much  longer  has  he  to  live  ?  Perhaps  he 
will  not  die  .  .  .  not  die  !  Oh  !  no,  that  is  impos- 
sible. The  air  was  icy,  cut  short  his  respiration."  And 
again  I  saw  the  infant  breathing,  again  I  saw  his  little 
mouth  half-closed,  the  dimple  in  his  throat. 


XLVI. 

THE  doctor  said : 

"  There  is  no  reason  whatever  for  anxiety.  It  is  nothing 
but  a  slight  cold.  The  air-passages  are  free." 

He  bent  again  over  Raymond's  bare  breast,  auscultating 
him. 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  obstruction. 

"You  can  assure  yourself  by  listening,"  he  added, 
turning  toward  me. 

I  placed  my  ear  against  that  delicate  chest  and  felt  its 
caressing  warmth. 

"No     .     .     ." 

I  looked  at  my  mother,  who  was  trembling  with  anxiety 
on  the  other  side  of  the  cradle. 

The  ordinary  symptoms  of  bronchitis  were  absent.  The 
child  was  quiet;  at  long  intervals  he  coughed  lightly;  he 
took  the  breast  as  often  as  usual ;  his  slumber  was  deep 
and  regular.  Even  I,  deceived  by  appearances,  doubted. 
"  My  attempt  has  been  useless.  It  seems  that  he  must  not 
die.  How  tenacious  his  Ifold  on  life  is  !  "  And  I  felt  the 
old  rancor  against  him  born  in  me  again — become  more 
acute.  His  calm  and  healthy  appearance  exasperated  me. 
I  had  suffered  all  that  anguish  uselessly  then.  I  had  ex- 
posed myself  to  all  that  peril  for  nothing  !  With  my  anger 
was  mingled  a  sort  of  superstitious  stupor,  caused  by  the 
extraordinary  tenacity  of  that  life.  "  I  shall  not  have  the 
courage  to  begin  over  again.  And  then  ?  It  is  I  who 


THE    INTRUDER.  309 

will  be  his  victim,  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to  escape 
him." 

The  perverse  little  phantom,  the  bilious  and  sly  child, 
full  of  intelligence  and  evil  instincts,  reappeared  to  me; 
again  he  fixed  his  hard,  gray  eyes  on  me  with  a  provocative 
air.  And  the  terrible  scenes  in  the  darkness  of  the  deserted 
rooms,  the  scenes  created  long  ago  by  my  hostile  imagina- 
tion, presented  themselves  again,  stood  out  again  in  relief, 
acquired  motion,  all  the  characters  of  reality. 

The  day  was  cloudy,  and  it  threatened  to  snow.  Juli- 
ana's alcove  again  seemed  like  a  refuge.  The  intruder 
could  not  be  taken  from  his  room,  could  not  come  and 
persecute  me  in  the  depths  of  that  retreat.  I  abandoned 
myself  altogether  to  my  sorrow,  without  seeking  to  hide  it. 

While  looking  at  the  poor  invalid  I  thought :  "  She  will 
not  get  well ;  she  will  not  recover."  The  strange  words  of 
the  previous  evening  recurred  to  my  memory,  troubled  me. 
Without  any  doubt,  the  intruder  was  an  executioner  for  her 
as  well  as  for  me ;  without  any  doubt,  he  imposed  himself 
exclusively  on  her  thoughts,  and  it  was  from  this  that  she 
was  dying  by  degrees.  So  heavy  a  weight  on  so  feeble  a 
heart ! 

With  the  incoherence  of  images  seen  in  a  dream,  once 
more  I  saw  in  mind  divers  fragments  of  my  previous  life. 
I  recollected  another  illness,  a  convalescence  long  past.  I 
lingered,  recomposing  these  fragments,  reconstructing  that 
period,  so  charming  and  so  painful,  during  which  I  had 
sown  the  germ  of  my  misfortune.  The  diffuse  whiteness  of 
the  light  recalled  to  my  memory  that  mild  afternoon  which 
we  had  passed,  Juliana  and  I,  reading  that  book  of  poetry, 
bending  together  over  the  same  page,  following  the  same 
line  with  our  eyes.  And,  on  the  margin,  I  saw  again  her 
taper  index-finger,  the  mark  of  her  nail. 


$10  THE    INTRUDER. 

Accueillez  la  voix  qui  persiste 
Dans  son  naif  epithalame. 
Allez,  rien  n'est  meilleur  4  Tame 
Que  de  faire  une  ame  moins  triste. 

I  had  seized  her  wrist;  I  slowly  bent  my  head  until 
my  lips  touched  the  hollow  of  her  hand;  I  murmured: 
"You  .  .  .  could  you  forget  ?"  And  she  closed  my 
mouth,  pronouncing  her  great  word  :  "  Silence." 

I  lived  that  fragment  of  life  over  again  under  the  form 
of  a  real  and  profound  sensation.  And  I  continued,  con- 
tinued to  relive  my  past.  I  came  to  the  morning  when  she 
had  risen  for  the  first  time — that  terrible  morning ;  I  heard 
her  laughing  and  broken  voice;  I  saw  again  the  gesture 
of  the  offering;  I  saw  her  again  in  the  arm-chair  after  the 
unexpected  shock;  I  saw  again  what  had  followed.  Why 
could  not  my  soul  free  itself  from  these  visions  ?  It  was 
useless  to  lament ;  utterly  useless.  "  //  was  too  late" 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?"  asked  Juliana,  who,  up 
to  then,  perhaps,  during  my  silence,  had  suffered  only  on 
account  of  my  sorrow. 

I  did  not  conceal  my  thoughts  from  her.  And  she,  in  a 
voice  that  came  from  the  depths  of  her  heart,  feeble,  but 
more  penetrating  than  a  cry,  murmured  : 

"  Oh  !  I  had  a  heaven  for  you  in  my  soul." 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which,  doubtless,  she  was  driv- 
ing back  to  her  heart  the  tears  that  did  not  come,  she  said  : 

"  I  cannot  console  you  now,  any  more.  There  is  con- 
solation neither  for  you  nor  for  me;  there  never  will 
be  ...  All  is  lost." 

"Who  knows  ?"  I  said. 

We  looked  at  each  other.  It  was  evident  that  at  that 
instant  we  were  both  thinking  of  the  same  thing — of  Ray- 
mond's possible  death. 


THE    INTRUDER.  311 

After  hesitating  a  moment,  I  alluded  to  the  conversation 
we  had  had  one  evening  beneath  the  elms  : 

"  Have  you  prayed  ?  " 

My  voice  trembled  greatly. 

She  answered  (I  scarcely  heard  her) : 

"Yes." 

And  she  shut  her  eyes,  turned  on  her  side,  buried  her 
head  in  the  pillow,  gathered  herself  together,  huddled 
beneath  the  covers  as  if  chilled  by  cold. 


XLVII. 

IN  the  evening,  I  went  to  see  Raymond.  I  found  him 
in  my  mother's  arms.  He  seemed  rather  pale,  but  he  was 
still  quiet;  he  breathed  freely.  No  suspicious  symptom 
was  noticeable. 

"  He  only  just  woke  up,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Does  that  make  you  uneasy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  never  slept  so  long  before." 

I  looked  fixedly  at  the  child.     His  gray  eyes  were  dull 
and  lifeless.    He  incessantly  moved  his  lips,  as  if  chewing. 
At  one  moment  he  vomited  a  little  curdled  milk  on  his  bib. 

II  Oh  !  no,  no,  the  child  is  not  well,"  cried  my  mother, 
shaking  her  head. 

"Has  he  coughed?" 

As  if  in  answer  to  my  question,  Raymond  began  to  cough. 

"Do  you  hear  ?  " 

It  was  a  little,  hoarse  cough,  unaccompanied  by  any 
sound  of  any  of  the  internal  organs.  It  ceased  immedi- 
ately. 

I  thought :  "  We  must  wait."  But  in  proportion  as  the 
fatal  presentiment  was  resuscitated  in  me,  my  aversion  to- 
ward the  intruder  diminished,  my  irritation  subsided.  I 
perceived  that  my  heart  remained  oppressed  and  miserable, 
incapable  of  a  single  joyful  transport. 

I  remember  that  evening  as  being  the  saddest  I  have  ever 
passed  during  the  course  of  my  fatal  career. 

Supposing  that   Giovanni    di    Scordio  might   be  in  the 


THE    INTRUDER.  313 

neighborhood,  I  left  the  house  and  walked  along  the  walk 
where  my  brother  and  I  had  met  him  the  last  time.  There 
were  signs  of  a  snowstorm  in  the  night  air.  Under  the  row 
of  trees  stretched  a  carpet  of  leaves.  The  bare  and  dry 
branches  stood  out  against  the  sky. 

I  looked  around  me  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  old  man. 
I  thought  of  his  tenderness  for  his  godson,  of  that  senile  and 
desolate  love,  of  those  large,  callous,  and  rugged  hands  which 
I  had  seen  become  ennobled  and  tremble  on  the  whiteness 
of  his  clothes.  I  thought :  "  How  he  will  weep  !  "  I  saw 
the  little  dead  body  in  its  swaddling-clothes  lying  in  its 
coffin,  amidst  the  wreaths  of  white  chrysanthemums,  between 
four  lighted  candles,  and  Giovanni  weeping  on  his  knees. 
"  My  mother  will  weep,  will  be  in  despair.  The  entire 
house  will  be  in  mourning.  Christmas  will  be  funereal. 
And  what  will  Juliana  do  when  I  present  myself  on  the 
threshold  of  the  alcove,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  an- 
nounce :  *  He  is  dead  ! '  " 

I  had  arrived  to  the  end  of  the  avenue.  I  looked  around ; 
I  saw  no  one.  The  country  was  silently  disappearing  in 
the  darkness ;  a  fire  shone  red  on  the  hill,  very  distant. 
I  retraced  my  steps,  alone.  Suddenly  something  white 
trembled  before  my  eyes  and  disappeared.  It  was  the  first 
snow. 

That  evening,  while  I  was  at  Juliana's  bedside,  I  again 
heard  the  bagpipes  continuing  the  nine  days'  prayer,  at  the 
same  hour. 


XLVIII. 

THE  evening  passed,  the  night  passed,  the  following 
morning  passed.  Nothing  extraordinary  happened.  But 
the  doctor,  on  his  visit,  did  not  conceal  the  fact  that  there 
existed  a  catarrh  of  the  nasal  mucosa  and  larger  bronchi : 
a  slight  indisposition  of  no  gravity  whatever.  Neverthe- 
less, I  perceived  that  he  tried  to  dissimulate  a  certain 
uneasiness.  He  gave  various  orders,  recommended  the 
greatest  prudence,  promised  to  return  during  the  day.  My 
mother  had  no  more  rest. 

On  entering  the  alcove,  I  said  to  Juliana,  in  a  low  voice, 
without  looking  her  in  the  face : 

"  He  is  getting  worse." 

And  we  were  silent  for  a  long  time.  At  moments  I 
arose  and  walked  to  the  window  to  watch  the  snow.  I 
walked  about  the  room,  the  prey  of  unbearable  anxiety. 
Juliana,  her  head  buried  in  the  pillow,  was  almost  hidden 
beneath  the  covers.  When  I  approached  she  opened  her 
eyes,  and  gave  me  a  rapid  look,  which  told  me  nothing. 

"Are  you  cold?" 

"Yes." 

But  the  room  was  warm.  I  returned  ceaselessly  to  the 
window  to  watch  the  snow,  and  the  whitened  country  on 
which  the  flakes  continued  to  fall  slowly.  It  was  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  What  was  passing  in  the  child's 
room  ?  Nothing  very  extraordinary,  certainly,  since  they 
had  not  called  me.  But  my  anxiety  increased  so  much 
that  I  resolved  to  go  to  see.  I  opened  the  door. 


THE    INTRUDER.  315 

"Where  are  you  going  ?"  cried  Juliana,  raising  herself 
on  her  elbow. 

"  I  am  going  downstairs  for  a  moment.  I  will  return 
immediately." 

She  remained  raised  on  her  elbow,  very  pale. 

"  Do  you  not  want  me  to  go  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  stay  with  me." 

She  did  not  let  herself  sink  back  on  her  pillow.  A 
strange  fright  had  changed  her  expression;  her  eyes  wan- 
dered restlessly,  as  if  pursuing  a  moving  shadow.  I  ap- 
proached her,  and  laid  her  down  myself,  arranged  her  in  the 
bed,  touched  her  forehead,  asked  her  gently : 

"  What  ails  you,  Juliana  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know;  I  am  afraid." 

"Of  what?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  It  is  not  my  fault;  I  am  ill;  lam 
like  that." 

But  her  eyes,  instead  of  fixing  themselves  on  me,  con- 
tinued to  wander. 

"  What  are  you  seeking  ?     Do  you  see  something  ?  " 

"No,  nothing." 

I  touched  her  forehead  again.  Its  warmth  was  normal. 
But  my  imagination  began  to  be  disturbed. 

"  You  see,  I  do  not  leave  you;  I'll  stay  with  you." 

I  sat  down ;  I  waited.  My  soul  was  in  that  state  of 
anxious  suspension  which  accompanies  the  expectation  of  an 
approaching  event.  I  was  certain  that  I  should  be  called. 
I  listened  for  the  slightest  sound.  From  time  to  time  I 
heard  bells  ring  in  the  house.  I  heard  the  dull  roll  of  a 
carriage  on  the  snow.  I  said  : 

"  It  is  probably  the  doctor." 

Juliana  did  not  utter  a  word.  I  waited.  An  intermi- 
nable length  of  time  passed.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  sound  of 


316  THE    INTRUDER. 

opening  doors,  a  sound  of  approaching  steps.  ^  sprang  to 
my  feet.  And,  at  the  same  instant,  Julian'  raised  herself. 

1  'What  is  the  matter?" 

I  knew  what  was  the  matter,  I  even  knew  the  precise 
words  that  the  messenger  was  going  to  utter. 

Cristina  entered.  She  seemed  agitated,  but  tried  to  dis- 
simulate it.  Without  coming  near  me,  but  giving  me  a 
significant  look,  she  stammered : 

"  May  I  say  something  to  signor  ?" 

I  left  the  alcove. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?" 

She  answered  in  a  low  voice : 

"The  child  is  much  worse.     Come  quickly,  signer." 

"Juliana,  I  am  going  out  for  a  moment.  Cristina  will 
stay  with  you.  I  will  return  immediately." 

I  left  the  room  and  ran  into  Raymond's  room. 

"Ah!  Tullio,  the  child  is  dying,"  cried  my  mother  in 
despair,  bending  over  the  cradle.  "  Look !  Look  at 
him!" 

I  bent  over  the  cradle.  A  rapid  change  had  taken 
place,  unexpected,  apparently  inexplicable,  frightful.  The 
little  face  had  become  of  an  ashen  color,  the  lips  had 
blanched,  the  eyes  were  faded,  dull,  lifeless.  The  poor 
creature  seemed  to  be  under  the  effect  of  some  violent 
poison. 

My  mother  told  me,  in  a  choking  voice  : 

"  An  hour  ago  he  seemed  quite  well.  He  coughed  a  little, 
but  that  was  all.  I  went  out  and  left  Anna  in  the  room. 
I  thought  I  should  find  him  still  asleep ;  he  seemed  sleepy. 
I  returned  and  found  him  in  this  condition.  Touch  him  : 
he  is  almost  cold  !  " 

I  touched  his  forehead  and  his  cheek.  The  temperature, 
in  fact,  had  gone  down. 


THE   INTRUDER.  317 

"  And  the  doctor  ?" 

"  He  has  not  come  yet.     I  have  sent  for  him." 

"They  should  have  taken  the  carriage." 

"Yes.     Cyriaque  has  gone." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?     There  is  no  time  to  lose.'1 

This  was  no  simulation  on  my  part.  I  was  sincere.  I 
could  not  let  the  Innocent  die  like  that,  without  making  an 
attempt  to  save  him.  In  presence  of  his  almost  cadaveric 
aspect,  although  my  crime  was  on  the  point  of  being  con- 
summated, pity,  remorse,  and  grief  seized  my  soul.  While 
waiting  for  the  doctor,  I  was  not  less  distracted  than  my 
mother.  I  rang.  A  servant  answered. 

"  Has  Cyriaque  gone  ?  " 

"Yes,  signer." 

"On  foot  ?" 

"  No,  signor;  in  the  carriage.1' 

Federico  came  in,  panting. 

"What  has  happened  ?" 

My  mother,  still  bending  over  the  cradle,  cried  out : 

"The  baby  is  dying." 

Federico  ran  up  and  looked  : 

"He  is  choking,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you  see  ?  He  has 
stopped  breathing." 

And  he  seized  the  child,  took  it  from  the  cradle,  raised 
it  and  shook  it. 

"  No,  no  !  What  are  you  doing  ?  You  will  kill  him  !  " 
cried  my  mother. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a  voice  an- 
nounced : 

"The  doctor." 

Doctor  Jemma  entered. 

"  I  was  on  my  way;  I  met  your  man.  What  has  hap- 
pened ?" 


318  THE   INTRUDER. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  went  up  to  my  brother, 
who  still  held  Raymond  in  his  arms  ;  he  took  the  child, 
examined  him,  became  serious. 

"  Me  must  be  undressed,"  he  said. 

And  he  put  him  on  the  nurse's  bed,  and  helped  my  mother 
to  remove  his  clothes. 

The  little  naked  body  appeared.  It  was  of  the  same 
clayey  color  as  the  face.  The  limbs  hung  flaccid,  inert. 
The  doctor's  fat  hand  felt  the  skin  in  several  places. 

"Do  something  for  him,  doctor,"  begged  my  mother. 
"Save  him!" 

But  the  doctor  seemed  irresolute.  He  felt  the  pulse, 
put  his  ear  to  the  chest,  and  murmured : 

"  A  spasm  of  the  heart.     .     .     .     Impossible." 

He  asked : 

"  When  did  this  change  take  place  ?     Suddenly?  " 

My  mother  tried  to  tell  what  she  had  told  me,  but  she 
burst  into  sobs  before  she  could  finish.  The  doctor 
decided  to  try  something;  he  tried  to  shock  the  torpor 
into  which  the  infant  was  plunged ;  he  tried  to  make  him 
cry,  to  provoke  vomiting,  to  stimulate  a  movement  of  ener- 
getic breathing.  My  mother  stood  by  watching  him,  and 
tears  streamed  from  her  wide-open  eyes. 

"  Has  Juliana  been  told  ?  "  asked  my  brother. 

"  No,  I  believe  not.  .  .  .  She  suspects,  perhaps. 
.  Perhaps  Cristina.  .  .  .  Stay  here,  I  will 
run  and  see,  and  come  back." 

I  looked  at  the  child  as  he  lay  in  the  doctor's  hands;  I 
looked  at  my  mother.  I  left  the  room,  and  ran  to  Juliana's 
room.  At  the  door  I  stopped.  "  What  shall  I  tell  her  ? 
Shall  I  tell  her  the  truth  ?"  I  entered;  I  saw  that  Cris- 
tina was  still  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window ;  I  entered  the 
alcove,  the  curtains  of  which  were  now  drawn.  Juliana 


THE   INTRUDER.  319 

was  huddled  up  under  the  covers.  As  I  approached  her, 
I  noticed  that  she  was  shaking  as  if  with  fever. 

"  Juliana,  it  is  I." 

She  turned  round  and  asked  in  a  low  voice : 

"  Were  you  faref" 

"Yes." 

"Tell  me  all." 

I  bent  over  her,  and  we  spoke  in  low  tones : 

"It  is  very  serious." 

"  Very  serious  ?" 

"Yes,  very  serious." 

"Is  he  dying?" 

"  Who  knows  ?     Perhaps." 

With  a  sudden  movement,  she  disengaged  her  arms  and 
threw  them  around  my  neck.  My  cheek  pressed  against 
hers;  and  I  felt  her  tremble,  I  felt  the  leanness  of  her 
poor,  sickly  bosom.  And,  while  she  embraced  me,  I  had 
before  my  mind  the  sinister  vision  of  the  distant  room ;  I 
saw  the  child  with  his  faded,  lifeless,  opaque  eyes  and 
livid  lips;  I  saw  my  mother's  tears  flowing.  There  was 
no  joy  in  that  embrace.  My  heart  was  oppressed ;  and  my 
soul,  bent  thus  over  the  obscure  abyss  of  that  other  soul, 
felt  helpless  and  alone. 


XLIX. 

BY  night-time  Raymond  was  dead.  All  the  indications 
of  acute  poisoning  by  carbonic  acid  appeared  on  the  little 
body  that  had  become  a  corpse.  The  little  face  was  livid 
and  leaden ;  the  nose  was  pinched ;  the  lips  had  taken  on 
a  dark  blue  color;  a  glimpse  of  the  opaque  whiteness  could 
be  caught  beneath  the  still  half-closed  eyelids;  on  one 
thigh,  near  the  groin,  was  a  reddish  spot.  It  seemed  as  if 
decomposition  had  already  set  in,  so  lamentable  was  the 
appearance  of  that  infantile  flesh,  which,  a  few  hours  before, 
all  rosy  and  tender,  had  been  caressed  by  my  mother's  fin- 
gers. 

In  my  ears  resounded  the  cries,  the  sobs,  the  distracted 
words  ejaculated  by  my  mother,  while  Federico  and  the 
women  led  her  out  of  the  room. 

"  Nobody  must  touch  him  !  Let  no  one  touch  him  !  I 
want  to  wash  him  myself,  I  wish  to  dress  him  myself." 

Then  silence  followed.  The  cries  had  ceased.  At 
moments  could  be  heard  a  slamming  of  doors.  I  was 
there  alone.  The  doctor  had  been  in  the  room,  too,  but  I 
was  now  alone.  Some  extraordinary  change  was  taking 
place  within  me ;  but  I  did  not  yet  know  exactly  what  it  was. 

"Come,"  said  the  doctor  gently,  touching  me  on  the 
shoulder.  "  Come,  leave  the  room." 

I  was  docile  ;  I  obeyed.  I  walked  slowly  along  the  cor- 
ridor, when  I  felt  another  touch.  It  was  Federico;  he 
embraced  me.  I  did  not  cry ;  I  did  not  feel  any  strong 


THE    INTRUDER.  321 

emotion ;  I  did  not  understand  his  words.      Yet   I  heard 
when  he  named  Juliana's  name. 

"  Take  me  to  Juliana's  room,"  I  said  to  him. 

I  put  my  arm  beneath  his ;  I  let  myself  be  conducted 
like  a  blind  man. 

When  we  were  in  front  of  the  door,  I  said  :  "  Leave  me." 
He  pressed  my  hand  and  left  me.     I  entered  alone. 
21 


IN  the  night  the  silence  of  the  house  was  pepulchral. 
A  light  burned  in  the  corridor.  I  walked  toward  that  light 
like  a  somnambulist.  Some  extraordinary  change  was 
taking  place  within  me ;  but  I  did  not  yet  know  exactly 
what  it  was. 

I  stopped,  warned  by  a  sort  of  instinct.  A  door  was 
open  ;  a  light  filtered  through  the  drawn  curtains.  I  crossed 
the  threshold,  parted  the  portieres,  and  advanced. 

The  cradle  was  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  between  four 
lighted  candles  and  draped  with  white.  My  brother  was 
seated  on  one  side,  Giovanni  di  Scordio  on  the  other,  hold- 
ing the  vigil.  The  old  man's  presence  caused  me  no  sur- 
prise. It  seemed  to  me  natural  that  he  should  be  there. 
I  asked  nothing ;  I  said  nothing.  I  believe  that  I  smiled 
faintly  at  them  when  they  looked  at  me.  I  do  not  know  if 
my  lips  really  smiled ;  but  I  had  intended  they  should,  as 
if  to  say :  "  Do  not  grieve  about  me,  do  not  try  to  console 
me ;  you  see  I  am  calm.  We  must  be  resigned. ' ' 

I  made  several  steps ;  I  went  and  placed  myself  at  the 
foot  of  the  cradle  between  the  two  candles.  To  the  foot  of 
this  cradle  I  bore  a  fearful,  humble,  feeble  soul,  totally 
freed  from  its  previous  passions.  My  brother  and  the  old 
man  had  not  left  their  places ;  and  yet  I  felt  alone. 

The  little  dead  body  was  clothed  in  white  :  in  the  same 
robe  in  which  it  was  baptized,  it  seemed  to  me.  Only 
the  face  and  the  hands  were  uncovered.  The  little  mouth, 


THE    INTRUDER.  323 

whose  wail  ings  had  so  often  aroused  my  hate,  was  now 
motionless  beneath  a  mysterious  seal.  The  silence  that 
reigned  over  this  mouth  also  reigned  in  me,  reigned  about 
me.  And  I  looked,  looked. 

Then,  in  the  silence,  there  arose  a  great  light  in  the  centre 
of  my  soul .  I  understood.  That  which  neither  my  brother's 
words  nor  the  old  man's  smile  had  been  sufficient  to  reveal 
to  me,  the  little  dumb  mouth  of  the  Innocent  revealed  to 
me  in  a  second.  I  understood.  And  then  I  was  assailed 
by  a  terrible  desire  to  confess  my  crime,  to  publish  my 
secret,  to  declare  in  the  presence  of  those  two  men :  "It 
was  I  who  assassinated  him  !  " 

They  both  looked  at  me ;  and  I  perceived  that  they  were 
both  uneasy  concerning  me  and  my  attitude  before  the 
corpse,  that  they  were  both  waiting  with  anguish  the  end  of 
my  silence.  Then  I  said  : 

"  Do  you  know  who  killed  this  innocent  ?  " 

In  the  silence  my  voice  was  so  strangely  sonorous  that  it 
was  unrecognizable  to  me ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  that  voice 
was  not  my  own.  And  a  sudden  terror  froze  my  blood, 
stiffened  my  tongue,  clouded  my  sight.  And  I  began  to 
tremble.  And  I  felt  that  my  brother  was  supporting  me, 
was  holding  my  head.  In  my  ears  was  such  a  strong  buzz- 
ing that  his  words  reached  me  indistinctly,  in  fragments. 
I  understood  that  he  thought  my  mind  was  deranged  by  a 
violent  attack  of  fever  and  that  he  was  trying  to  lead  me 
out.  I  let  him  take  me  away. 

He  led  me  to  my  room,  supporting  me.  Terror  still  con- 
trolled me.  At  the  sight  of  a  single  candle  that  was 
burning  on  the  table,  I  shuddered ;  I  could  not  remember 
having  left  it  lit. 

"  Undress  yourself  and  go  to  bed/'  said  Federico  to  me, 
stroking  me  with  his  hands  tenderly. 


324  THE    INTRUDER. 

He  made  me  sit  down  on  my  bed  and  felt  my  forehead 
again. 

"  Listen.  Your  fever  is  increasing.  Begin  to  undress. 
Come,  come." 

With  a  tenderness  that  recalled  that  of  my  mother,  he 
assisted  me  to  undress.  He  helped  me  to  get  into  bed. 
Seated  at  my  bedside,  he  felt  my  forehead  from  time  to 
time,  to  judge  of  my  fever;  and  as  he  saw  that  I  still 
trembled,  he  asked : 

"  Are  you  very  cold  ?  Does  not  your  shivering  cease  at 
all  ?  Shall  I  cover  you  more  ?  Are  you  thirsty  ?  " 

Shivering,  I  thought :  "  Suppose  I  had  spoken  !  Suppose 
I  had  had  the  strength  to  keep  on  !  Was  it  I,  positively  I, 
who,  with  my  own  lips,  spoke  those  words  ?  Was  it  abso- 
lutely I  ?  And  suppose  Federico,  on  thinking  them  over, 
on  deeply  reflecting,  began  to  suspect  ?  I  asked :  '  Do 
you  know  who  killed  this  innocent  ? '  Nothing  more. 
But  had  I  not  the  aspect  of  an  assassin  about  to  confess? 
On  thinking  it  over,  Federico  could  not  fail  to  ask  himself  : 
'  What  did  he  want  to  say  ?  Against  whom  did  he  direct 
that  strange  accusation  ? '  My  excitement  will  seem  equi- 
vocal. The  doctor  ...  He  must  think :  '  Perhaps 
he  alluded  to  the  doctor.'  He  must  have  some  new  proof 
of  my  exaltation,  he  must  continue  to  believe  my  mind  de- 
ranged by  fever,  in  a  condition  of  intermittent  delirium." 
While  I  reasoned  thus,  rapid  and  clear  visions  passed 
through  my  mind,  with  evidence  of  real  and  tangible 
things.  "I  am  feverish,  and  very  strongly  so.  What  if 
true  delirium  should  set  in,  what  if  I  unconsciously 
revealed  my  secret  ?  " 

I  watched  over  myself  with  frightful  anguish. 

I    said:     "The    doctor,    the    doctor — did    not    know 


THE    INTRUDER.  325 

My  brother  bent  over  me,  felt  my  forehead  again  uneasily, 
emitted  a  sigh. 

"  Do  not  worry,  Tullio.     Be  quiet." 

And  he  went  and  wrung  out  a  linen  in  cold  water,  and 
applied  it  to  my  burning  head. 

The  procession  of  rapid  and  clear  visions  continued. 
I  saw  again  the  baby's  agony  with  terrible  intensity.  He 
was  agonizing  in  his  cradle.  His  face  was  ashen,  so 
pallid  that  the  milk  crusts  above  the  eyebrows  appeared 
yellow.  The  lower  lip,  depressed,  was  invisible.  From 
time  to  time  he  raised  his  eyelids,  that  were  lightly  tinted 
with  violet,  and  one  would  have  thought  that  the  irides 
were  adherent  because  they  followed  the  ascending  move- 
ment and  lost  themselves  beneath,  leaving  a  view  only  of 
the  opaque  whites.  From  time  to  time  the  choking  death 
rattle  was  interrupted.  At  one  time  the  doctor  said,  as  if 
to  make  a  supreme  attempt : 

"  Quick  !  Quick  !  Let  us  take  the  cradle  near  the  open 
window.  Room  !  room  !  The  little  one  needs  air.  Make 
room." 

My  brother  and  I  carried  the  cradle,  which  seemed  like  a 
coffin.  But,  in  the  daylight,  the  spectacle  was  still  more 
frightful,  beneath  that  cold,  white  light  reflected  by  the 
snow. 

My  mother  cried : 

"He  is  dying!  Look,  look:  he  is  dying!  Feel:  his 
pulse  has  stopped  !  " 

And  the  doctor  said  : 

"No,  no.  He  breathes.  As  long  as  there  is  a  sigh, 
there  is  some  hope." 

And  between  the  livid  lips  of  the  dying  child  he  intro- 
duced a  spoonful  of  ether.  After  a  few  seconds,  the  child 
opened  his  eyes,  turned  up  his  pupils,  and  gave  a  feeble 


326  THE    INTRUDER. 

wail.  A  slight  change  took  place  in  his  color.  His 
nostrils  quivered. 

The  doctor  said : 

"Don't  you  see?  He  breathes.  We  must  hope,  even 
to  the  end." 

He  agitated  the  air  above  the  cradle  with  a  fan;  then 
with  his  finger  he  depressed  the  baby's  chin  in  order  to 
unclose  his  lips,  to  open  the  mouth.  The  tongue,  clove  to 
the  palate,  fell  down  like  a  clapper;  and  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  thread-like  mucus  that  stretched  between  the  palate 
and  the  tongue,  the  whitish  matter  accumulated  in  the 
throat.  A  convulsive  movement  raised  towards  the  face 
the  little  hands,  that  had  become  violet,  particularly  at  the 
palms,  at  the  folds  of  the  phalanges,  and  at  the  nails — 
hands  already  cadaverous,  and  which  my  mother  touched 
each  moment.  The  little  finger  of  the  right  hand  was 
always  kept  apart,  away  from  the  other  fingers,  and  trembled 
lightly.  Nothing  could  be  more  lamentable. 

Federico  tried  to  persuade  my  mother  to  leave  the 
room.  But,  bent  over  Raymond's  face,  almost  touching  it, 
she  watched  the  slightest  indications.  One  of  her  tears 
fell  on  the  adored  one's  head.  Quickly  she  dried  it  with 
her  handkerchief ;  but  she  perceived  that,  on  the  head,  the 
fontanels  were  sunk,  depressed. 

"  Look,  doctor  !  "  she  cried  with  fright. 

And  my  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  that  soft  head,  dotted 
with  milk  crusts,  yellowish,  like  a  piece  of  wax  in  the 
midst  of  which  a  hollow  had  been  made.  All  the  sutures 
were  visible.  The  bluish  temporal  vein  was  lost  beneath 
the  crusts. 

"Look,  look!" 

The  vital  energy,  reawakened  for  a  moment  by  the  arti- 
ficial means  of  ether,  subsided.  The  death  rattle  began  to 


THE    INTRUDER.  327 

acquire  a  characteristic  sonorousness ;  the  little  hands  fell 
along  the  sides,  inert ;  the  chin  retracted  more ;  the  fontanels 
became  deeper,  and  no  longer  pulsated.  All  at  once,  the 
dying  child  seemed  to  make  an  effort.  Quickly  the  doctor 
raised  the  head.  And  there  came  from  the  little,  violet 
mouth  a  small  quantity  of  a  whitish  liquid.  But  in  the 
effort  made  in  vomiting  the  skin  of  the  forehead  was 
stretched,  and  through  the  epidermis  the  brown  spots  of 
an  effusion  could  be  seen  appearing.  My  mother  uttered  a 
cry. 

"  Come,  come,  go  with  me,"  repeated  my  brother,  trying 
to  lead  her  away. 

"No,  no,  no!" 

The  doctor  administered  another  spoonful  of  ether.  And 
the  agony  was  prolonged,  the  torture  was  prolonged.  The 
little  hands  rose  up  again;  the  fingers  stirred  vaguely; 
between  the  half-closed  pupils  the  irides  appeared,  then 
disappeared  by  a  retrograde  movement,  like  two  little 
faded  flowers,  like  two  little  corollas  that  closed  with  a 
flaccid  curling  up. 

Evening  fell,  and  the  Innocent  was  still  in  agony.  On 
the  window-panes  shone  a  light  like  the  glimmer  of  ap- 
proaching dawn,  due  to  the  whiteness  of  the  snow  conflict- 
ing with  the  shadows. 

"He  is  dead,  he  is  dead!"  cried  my  mother,  who  no 
longer  heard  the  death  rattle,  and  who  saw  a  livid  spot 
appear  around  the  nose. 

"  No,  no  !     He  is  breathing." 

A  candle  had  been  lit ;  one  of  the  women  held  it,  and 
the  little  yellow  flame  flickered  at  the  foot  of  the  cradle. 
Abruptly  my  mother  uncovered  the  little  body  to  feel  it. 

"  He  is  cold,  cold  all  over  !  " 

The  limbs  were  stretched  out ;   the  feet  were  becoming 


328  THE    INTRUDER. 

violet.  Nothing  could  be  more  lamentable  than  that  poor 
little  morsel  of  dead  flesh,  lying  in  front  of  that  darkening 
window,  beneath  the  light  of  that  candle. 

But,  once  more,  an  indescribable  sound,  that  was  neither 
a  wail,  nor  a  cry,  nor  death  rattle,  left  that  little  and 
almost  bluish  mouth,  together  with  a  little  whitish  froth. 
And  my  mother,  as  if  insane,  threw  herself  on  the  little 
corpse. 

Once  more  I  saw  all  that,  with  my  eyes  closed.  And 
when  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  saw  it  again,  with  unbelievable 
intensity. 

"Remove  that  candle!"  I  cried  to  Federico,  raising 
myself  on  my  couch,  terrified  by  the  mobility  of  the  little 
pale  flame.  "  Remove  that  candle  !  " 

Federico  took  it  and  placed  it  behind  a  folding  screen. 
Then  he  returned  to  my  bedside,  made  me  lie  down  again, 
changed  the  cloth  on  my  forehead. 

At  moments,  in  the  silence,  I  heard  sighs. 


LI. 

THE  following  day,  although  I  was  in  a  state  of  extreme 
feebleness  and  prostration,  I  wished  to  be  present  at  the 
religious  benediction,  at  the  funeral  procession,  at  the 
entire  ceremony. 

The  corpse  was  already  enclosed  in  its  little  white  coffin 
with  a  glass  lid.  A  crown  of  white  chrysanthemums  was 
on  its  forehead ;  a  white  chrysanthemum  was  in  its  joined 
hands ;  but  nothing  could  match  the  waxy  whiteness  of 
those  diminutive  hands,  the  nails  of  which  alone  were 
violet. 

There  were  present  Federico,  Giovanni  di  Scordio,  I, 
and  several  servants.  The  four  tapers  burned  and  wept. 
The  priest  entered,  attired  in  the  white  stole,  followed  by 
assistants  who  bore  the  aspergill  and  the  cross.  We  all 
knelt.  The  priest  sprinkled  the  bier  with  holy  water,  say- 
ing: 

"  Sit  nomen  Domini." 

Then  he  recited  the  psalm  : 

"  Laudate,  pueri,  Dominum     .     .     ." 

Federico  and  Giovanni  di  Scordio  rose,  and  took  the 
coffin.  Pietro  opened  the  doors  in  front  of  them.  I  fol- 
lowed. Behind  me  came  the  priest,  the  assistants,  four 
servants,  with  lighted  wax  tapers.  Passing  through  the 
silent  corridors,  we  arrived  at  the  chapel,  while  the  priest 
recited  the  psalm : 

' '  Beati  im macula ti  . " 


33°  THE    INTRUDER. 

While  the  bier  was  being  borne  into  the  chapel,  the 
priest  murmured : 

"  Hie  accipiet  benedictionem  a  Domino" 

Federico  and  the  old  man  placed  the  bier  on  the  little 
catafalque,  in  the  middle  of  the  chapel.  We  all  knelt. 
The  priest  recited  other  psalms.  Then  he  uttered  an  invo- 
cation that  the  soul  of  the  Innocent  be  called  to 
heaven.  Then  he  again  sprinkled  the  bier  with  holy 
water.  Then  he  went  out,  followed  by  his  assistants. 

We  all  arose.  Everything  was  ready  for  the  burial. 
Giovanni  di  Scordio  took  the  light  coffin  in  his  arms,  and 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  glass  lid.  Federico  descended 
first  into  the  vault,  and  the  old  man  descended  behind 
him,  bearing  the  coffin.  I  descended  last,  with  a  servant. 
Nobody  spoke. 

The  sepulchral  chamber  was  large,  all  of  gray  stone.  In 
the  walls  were  hollowed  out  niches,  some  already  closed  by 
stone  blocks,  the  others  gaping,  deep,  full  of  darkness, 
waiting  for  their  prey.  From  an  arch  hung  three  lamps 
fed  with  olive  oil,  and  they  burned  quietly  in  the  humid  and 
heavy  air,  with  small,  thin  flames  that  were  never  extin- 
guished. 

"  Here,"  said  my  brother. 

And  he  pointed  to  an  open  niche,  situated  beneath 
another  niche  already  closed  by  a  stone  slab.  On  that 
stone  was  engraved  the  name  of  Constance,  from  the  gilt 
letters  of  whose  name  came  confused  flashes  of  light. 

Then,  to  permit  us  to  contemplate  once  more  the  dead 
child,  Giovanni  di  Scordio  extended  the  arms  that  bore  the 
coffin.  And  we  gave  him  a  last  look.  Through  the 
crystal  lid  that  little,  livid  face,  those  little  joined  hands, 
that  little  robe,  and  those  chrysanthemums,  and  all  those 
white  things  appeared  infinitely  distant,  intangible,  as  if 


THE   INTRUDER.  331 

the  transparent  lid  of  the  coffin  in  the  arms  of  that  grand 
old  man  permitted  a  glimpse  through  some  cleft  of  a  super- 
natural mystery,  terrible  yet  full  of  a  sad  charm. 

No  one  spoke.     It  seemed  as  if  no  one  breathed. 

The  old  man  turned  toward  the  mortuary  niche,  bent 
over,  laid  the  coffin  on  the  ground,  and  pushed  it  slowly 
toward  the  end.  Then  he  knelt  down,  and  remained 
several  minutes  motionless. 

In  the  depths  the  coffin  stood  out  with  a  vague  whiteness. 
In  the  lamplight  the  hoary  head  of  the  old  man  seemed 
luminous,  thus  bent  on  the  border  of  the  Shadow. 


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